


In-between Lying and Omission

by in_way_too_deep



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Kavinsky's dad is the real villain, M/M, Mental Institutions, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, non-explicit mentions of abuse and rape, vague tones of disordered eating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15978419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_way_too_deep/pseuds/in_way_too_deep
Summary: A late night confession and misunderstanding puts Kavinsky in the hospital and throws Ronan into his own personal hell.





	1. Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Kavinsky had a hellish childhood. This is dark. Not quite happy-ending because it’s not really the end. (aka I can write more of this if anyone wants, but lmk and also tell me if you want a happy ending or not, I will do either)

Ronan sank deeper into the plush couch and, as he slipped into a mellow high, had to admit he wasn’t having an awful time. The room he sat in was cavernous, but the smoke still managed to put a hazy mist on the dimly lit basement, indicating just how much had been imbibed in at the party. That may have been why he felt like a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Even as he knew it was temporary, he was grateful.

It wasn’t the first time Ronan had attended one of Kavinsky’s home parties, but it was the first time he’d stayed more than an hour. He couldn’t put his finger on the why behind it all, but he didn’t feel the itch to leave that he usually got after spending too long with Kavinsky. If he had to guess he’d say it was because Kavinsky was being strangely tolerable. He hadn’t mention Gansey or made any similarly bitter jabs all night. He’d actually been fairly quiet. There was definitely something going on with Kavinsky, and it slightly unnerved Ronan, but the weed took the edge off and allowed him to ignore whatever malaise it caused.

As people trickled out of the room, leaving Ronan and Kavinsky alone, Ronan kept subtly glancing at him, trying to figure it out. Any other time, Kavinsky would have noticed, commented on it, and caused Ronan to flee, but that didn’t happen. Kavinsky just sat silently, staring off in the distance, only paying attention to Ronan as far as passing the blunt back and forth. Taking the rare opportunity to examine Kavinsky only led to more questions. Like why he was wearing a hoodie.

On anyone else it would’ve been an absurd thing to question, the house’s high ceilings created a draft after all, but on Kavinsky it was fair. He had various forms of one outfit as far as Ronan was aware, so he didn’t know what to think of the hoodie that practically swallowed Kavinsky’s alarmingly thin frame. His glances grew longer and longer, and he couldn’t help but think Kavinsky looked _soft_. He knew Kavinsky would’ve pulled a gun on him if he mentioned as much (and God – how fucked up was it that he found that attractive) but there was no other word for it.

He wasn’t ready for any of those thoughts though, especially as high as he was, so he tried to come up with something – anything – to make the normal Kavinsky come back. Casually, he demanded, “Tell me a secret.” Ronan had asked in the hopes that Kavinsky would laugh at him or snap something cutting in response, but neither happened. Instead, Kavinsky looked at him in consideration. Ronan felt pinned on the spot, instinctually still, but unable to tell whether he was the predator or the prey.

Then Kavinsky looked away, picking at a string on his sweatpants (another anomaly Ronan was just noticing), and answered quietly, seriously, “I’ve never had real sex.” He looked back up, daring Ronan to respond, but Ronan was just relieved that some of the normal steel had returned to his eyes

Still, as visions of various girls sitting shotgun in the Evo flashed in his head, he had to ask, “What?”

Kavinsky’s response was defensive, “What?”

“What’s ‘real sex’?” Ronan felt like a middle schooler, but he shook it off, pretending the question was more mockery than confusion.

Kavinsky gave undue attention to flicking the ash off the end of the blunt but eventually looked at Ronan and answered. “You know ‘consensual’ or whatever.”

His use of air quotes temporarily distracted Ronan, but when he fully comprehended what Kavinsky had admitted he was overwhelmed with disgust and rage. He stood up abruptly and spun to face him. “What the fuck?!” He didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You sick piece of shit!” Without thinking about it he punched Kavinsky in the jaw before grabbing him by the collar and throwing him to the ground.

When Kavinsky didn’t move to fight back Ronan just stared down at him in revulsion. The vents hummed, the veins of the house, and Ronan took deep breaths but they didn’t help when all he could think was that Kavinsky more than likely blamed his victims. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t call him out on it. “You may tell yourself it’s not your fault, but I want you to know there’s _no one_ to blame but yourself.”

He knew Blue would have been proud of his integrity, but Ronan could only focus on the fact that he’d been falling for a rapist. He hadn’t been prepared for the burning feeling it brought. “Die and go back to Hell.” He meant to leave it at that, walk away and never look back, but as Kavinsky refused to look at him Ronan fell further from the edge of sanity. He started beating him some more, unable to contain his anger, and still Kavinsky didn’t fight back. Ronan only stopped when Kavinsky curled in on himself, blood slicking his face, and even then, it was difficult. Just as he reached the stairs he turned back and said one last thing. “If I ever fucking see your face again I might fucking kill you.”

Ronan wasn’t a liar.  

 

The trip back to Monmouth was a blur, but he was pretty sure he’d be getting a nasty letter from Henrietta’s transportation department in the mail. With his stomach feeling as heavy as it did, that was the least of his worries. He made it up to the bathroom, for once glad Gansey was visiting his family, and threw up. It wasn’t like he’d been in love with Kavinsky, but he’d definitely felt _something_. Worse still was that, that very night, he’d been considering confessing as much. Now, he was ever grateful for his hesitance as he climbed into bed and tried to ignore what he’d learned.

It felt impossible to sleep and it hurt to try, but he must have been successful, as he was woken up. He would have ignored the person pounding on the door, but then he heard Jiang call out to him unkindly. His anger from the prior night, mixed with a new sense of curiosity, propelled him out of bed.

As soon as he opened the door Jiang barged in and slammed Ronan against the nearest wall, as if _Ronan_ was in the wrong. Jiang, though larger than Kavinsky, was vastly outweighed by Ronan. Unfortunately for Ronan that didn’t mean much when he had a knife placed right over his kidney. Ronan snarled at him but before he could say anything he was shouting.

“What did you say to him?! What did you say?!”

Ronan wanted to refuse to respond out of spite, but his anger wouldn’t let him. “The truth! That he’s fucking disgusting!” When Jiang pushed the knife in slightly, Ronan eyes narrowed dangerously. “Stop fucking defending him! It’s his own damn fault!” At the look in Jiang’s eyes Ronan’s anger flickered like a candle in the wind, tempered by a genuine concern for his life, but it was only temporary. “Why the fuck are you defending a motherfucking rapist?!”  

Jiang looked at him like he was crazy. “K’s not a rapist!”     

The superiority Ronan felt from knowing more than Jiang was sick. “He fucking told me himself!”

 “What _exactly_ did he say?”

Ronan was begrudgingly impressed by the way Jiang’s words went from violently angry to stone cold. Still, he was sick of the position and Jiang’s slight distraction gave him the upper hand. In one sharp twist he switched their places and held Jiang to the wall by his throat. “He said he’d never had ‘consensual’ sex. What the fuck do _you_ call someone like that? A friend?”  

Then, for the first time in a while, Ronan got the wind knocked out of him as he was shoved onto the hard floor. No one else would’ve been able to best Ronan like that, not even Declan, but Jiang was skilled. He also had a knife, as Ronan was unkindly reminded by its uncomfortable proximity to his dick.

Jiang gritted his teeth so intensely that Ronan could hear them creak. His words dripped ice. “He told you about his father and you said it was his fault?” Ronan was very confused, but Jiang didn’t pause to explain. His voice rose, and the ice flamed. “You said he was disgusting?!” 

“What the hell are you talking about?! He didn’t say shit about his dad!”

The punch Ronan got in response didn’t clear anything up, but when Jiang spoke, voice no less toxic, it started to click into place. “No wonder he tried to off himself as soon as you left.” Jiang then took his knife and slammed it down right next to Ronan’s head, nicking his ear in the process, and stood. He dusted off his jeans and grabbed the switchblade from where it had slid on the cement, kicking Ronan viciously for good measure, before storming out.

Ronan heard Jiang’s car screech away, but he stayed on the floor, staring over at Gansey’s Monmouth model. It was crystal clear what Jiang had implied, but Ronan’s mind refused to cooperate. He watched the dust motes float around the small town and, only when he remembered Kavinsky’s earlier comment, did the truth hit home.

_Some nights you just take it._

Maybe he hadn’t meant stealing.

_Consent is overrated._

Maybe he’d been trying to tell Ronan the entire goddamn time.

He ran to the bathroom for the second time in less than 24 hours and was sick again, but for a very different reason. If it was true, if Kavinsky’s father had done … _that_ … and Ronan had responded how he had, then he was an objectively terrible person. As he knelt over the toilet, he debated whether or not he should pay Kavinsky a visit.

On the one hand, Kavinsky probably – definitely – didn’t want to see Ronan, but on the other Ronan needed to clear things up. In the end, after too much soul searching, he decided to go see him. He would have liked to believe it was because he thought explaining the misunderstanding would make K feel better, but it was by-and-large a selfish decision. The truth was that, though it’d only been an hour, the guilt was eating him alive. He knew in his marrow that he wouldn’t be able to take much more.   

 

Though he drove to Kavinsky’s house slower than usual in an attempt to come up with something to say, he arrived with no idea how to go about apologizing. Gathering his resolve, he exited his car and walked up the driveway. He was reaching for the door handle when it suddenly moved backwards. Swan walked out, soccer-duffle bag slung over one of his shoulders and paused mid-step when he saw Ronan. Without hesitating, he dropped the navy-blue bag and lunged. The opposite of Jiang, he was powerful but unskilled and Ronan didn’t have much trouble pulling him off and gaining distance.  

Swan panted, not in exertion but rage, and yelled at Ronan. His booming voice shocked Ronan. As laid back as Swan was, he shouted like a man possessed. “What the fuck, Lynch?! What the absolute fuck?” They were questions, but they weren’t. “Who the hell do you think you are showing up here?” He stepped forward and shoved Ronan roughly. Ronan stumbled back but didn’t retaliate, letting Swan yell. “He’s in the hospital because of you and you show up to his house?”

“What?” Ronan felt dumb.

“He’s in the hospital because you made him want to die.” Swan’s hysterical laugh was humorless. “It’s almost like you told him to kill himself!”

Ronan had forgotten about that until then and he must have been unsuccessful at hiding his guilt, if the way Swan shook with fury meant anything. “Tell me you didn’t, Lynch.” Ronan couldn’t lie, but he didn’t respond. “Tell me you didn’t!” When Ronan still didn’t reply Swan accepted his silence as an admission. “If I’d been two minutes later, he would’ve bled out and you’d be a murderer.” The anger hadn’t dissipated at all from Swan’s tense form, but he just rammed his shoulder into Ronan hard enough to bruise and went to his car.

It screeched away, drifting around the corner, and Ronan sat down hard on the front porch. He put his head in his hands and his palms grew wet with the tears that slipped out, unbidden. Before last night he had had enough guilt to last him the rest of his life. Now he had enough guilt to live twice and not be free. He felt his phone buzz and checked it, hoping against hope that Kavinsky had called to forgive him, to remove the boulder from his chest, but it was just Gansey. Thinking of how Gansey’s face would twist if he knew what Ronan had done just made everything that much worse. He rejected the call and turned his phone off before anyone else could call.

He sat there for a long time, until the sun was high in the sky, and replayed what Swan and Jiang had said. It swirled in his mind, creating a twisted headache, but eventually he realized Kavinsky might not come back that day. He remembered the bag Swan had taken from Kavinsky’s house and felt like an idiot.

A pit formed in his stomach as he realized he’d have to visit Kavinsky in the hospital if he wanted to see him. For a moment he considered abandoning his plans, but he knew that he’d simply suffer until he returned to the same verdict. He fought the weight that had settled in his bones and pulled himself up.

The walk to his car was difficult and starting the engine was arduous, but he did it and somehow made it to the hospital. He sat in his idling car doing his smoker breath and then pulled himself out violently when it became obvious, he was as prepared as he would ever be.

It had been a long time, but not quite long enough, since he’d been at the hospital, and even longer still since he’d been there as a visitor, but he knew the routine. He got his badge and followed the signs to the room number the suspicious receptionist had reluctantly given him. The room was situated at a corner and as he rounded the hall he almost ran into Jiang. He and Proko stood outside the entrance to the room and glared at Ronan, tense as guard dogs.

It was clear that Jiang was still livid, a live wire and an obvious threat, but Proko was even more troubling. In all their interactions Prokopenko had been nothing more than a dull drone, content to spinelessly follow orders. Now, though, he looked like a different person. He was silent but his hyperventilating, shoulder shaking, barely suppressed rage, let Ronan know he was only quiet because he was too angry to speak.

Jiang had no such problem. “Leave.”

“No. I need to see K.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you ‘ _need_ ’’, Lynch.”

“He deserves to know I didn’t mean it!”

“He deserves to never have to see your face again.”

“After I tell him.”

“Oh, fuck off! You don’t get to apologize to make yourself feel better and fuck him up even more.”

Ronan winced at the truth behind the statement but didn’t give up. “I have as much a right to be here as you!”

Prokopenko found his voice and spoke before Jiang could respond. It was low, conscientious of being overheard, but it was no less intense for it. “You know you may have broken him, right?” He glared at Ronan until they locked eyes. “After everything that’s happened to him, its _you_.” It was painful to be compared to all the other villains in Kavinsky’s life, but it wasn’t inaccurate. “It’s almost impressive, honestly. You should be proud.” The words felt like a punch to the solar plexus, their truth winded him, and it showed. Proko was merciless. “Better yet, you should take your own advice and fucking kill yourself.”

Ronan couldn’t respond, choking on his shame, but it became unnecessary as Skov joined them in the hall. The disgust with which he looked at Ronan reminded him of how he’d felt about Kavinsky the night before. His words made him feel like vermin. “For some fucked up reason he wants to see you.”

Jiang looked surprised. “He spoke?”

Skov huffed disparagingly. “Barely.”

Their talk created an opportunity for Ronan to enter Kavinsky’s room, but they’d purposefully spread out and didn’t move to let him by; he squeezed by them without mentioning it and entered the room anyway. He couldn’t see Kavinsky behind Swan’s large form, but soon enough Swan turned to glare daggers at him and ‘accidentally’ step on his foot on his way out. He’d left them alone though, so Ronan couldn’t complain.  

 

He still hadn’t thought of anything to say and, when he saw Kavinsky, he rued that fact. It had been hard enough imaging talking, apologizing, when he was alone, but this was so much worse. He really needed something to fall back on.

Kavinsky sat in the bed, knees pulled up to his chest, and looked even more foreign to Ronan than Proko had. The usual bravado, the grandness that was Kavinsky, was gone. In its place sat a boy, bruises and cuts made all the more pitiful by how pale he was.

Just mere hours ago, Ronan wouldn’t have ever even considered considering Kavinsky fragile. Now, seeing him with an IV pumping fluid into his veins, bandages wrapped on both forearms tellingly, it was impossible to deny. Ronan’s eyes couldn’t help but focus on the colors bruising Kavinsky’s gaunt cheeks, courtesy of last night’s misplaced anger.

Time ticked on and Ronan felt the pressure to speak, but apologizing was hard. Still, he’d seen movies. He could start simply. “I’m sorry.”

Kavinsky snorted mirthlessly. “Don’t be.”

“K –”

“You were right. There’s nothing to fucking apologize for, so drop it.” Kavinsky still hadn’t met his eyes, but it was obvious he meant what he said.

“I didn’t know, I didn’t mean it … I just thought you were saying you did that to other people, not –“

Kavinsky laughed, surprised and deranged, “That’s so much fucking worse.”

“What -”

When Kavinsky finally looked at him his eyes were filled with more pain than Ronan could stomach. His voice was too quiet, too young to be the Kavinsky Ronan knew. “You honestly thought I’d do that?”

“No, I was just high.” The snort he received told him Kavinsky, intimately familiar with all types of intoxication, didn’t buy the excuse. He had to say something to make him understand it had been a mistake. “How was I supposed to know what you meant?”

Kavinsky spoke more to himself than Ronan. “You thought I could do that.”

He didn’t sound angry, instead resigned. Ronan wished he would yell or scream, blame Ronan for all he was worth, but he didn’t. Listening to how empty Kavinsky sounded clawed at Ronan’s rib cage like a night terror had burrowed there. “I couldn’t just guess your father had raped you.”

Ronan had spoken as gently, as empathetically, as he knew how, but Kavinsky screeched as if he’d been mocking him, “Shut up!”

Ronan’s eyes widened, and he tried to back pedal. “I didn’t mean it was your fault. Fuck. K, I just said that cause I –“

“Shut up about shit you don’t know!”

That was a hard point to argue, but Ronan felt obligated to say something after the damage he’d caused. “It _couldn’t_ have been your fault. That’s what I was getting at last night … just … I just had it the wrong way.” It felt awkward to say, but Ronan knew he was right. “Rape victims never –”

As soon as the words left Ronan’s mouth, Kavinsky put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, blocking him out.

Ronan was dumbfounded by the reaction, completely lost. Before he could try to dig his way out of the hole he was in, a nurse and an orderly came rushing in. The nurse hurried to Kavinsky’s side and the orderly walked up to Ronan.

“Time to leave.” The threat wasn’t glaring, but there was no mistaking the orderly’s tone.

With one last glance back at Kavinsky, Ronan walked out, followed closely by the man in white. He didn’t argue the matter, secretly, guiltily, grateful to have an excuse to leave. It was hard to gain his bearings, as adrift as he was in these foreign waters, but he found enough control to walk through the tribunal of Kavinsky’s friends without looking at them.

The orderly marched him outside and stood, arms crossed, by the door until Ronan made it to his car. When he got back to Monmouth, a shell of himself, he made it to his room and locked the door behind him. After using all his energy to close the black-out curtains and kill the lights, he crawled into bed and hid under the covers.

Some hours later he heard Gansey return, let him knock on his door and try to cajole him out, but didn’t move. He wanted to reach for the liquor under his bed, but he didn’t. Or maybe he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve the reprieve it would bring. He had tried to pay penance to Kavinsky, but how could he be forgiven if Kavinsky refused to blame him for what he’d done? Later, he’d go to church and try to repent, but he knew God would never forgive him until he made amends with K. A passage echoed in his mind.

_Therefore, if you bring your gift to the altar, and there recall that your brother has anything against you//leave your gift there at the altar, go first and be reconciled with your brother, and then come and offer your gift._

It had always been the hardest verse for him to follow (especially with a brother like Declan clouding his mind), but now he couldn’t bear the pain of being left without forgiveness. More words cluttered his mind and felt like scripture.

_After everything that’s happened to him, its you. He deserves to never have to see your face again. It’s you. That’s so much fucking worse. It’s you. It’s you. It’s you._

Eventually, he gave in, too weak to bear the pain, and grabbed some bottles from his stash and drank deeply. He passed out and the nightmares were as bad as ever, but he didn’t regret sleeping. Given the choice he’d stay there and ignore reality and the worm of self-hatred devouring him from his very core. 


	2. Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically the 1st chapter from Kavinsky's POV. There will be more of his POV coming soon - some of just different perspectives of chapters that have occurred and others with completely new content. Sorry I took so long. The LSAT really kicked my ass. Anyway, I'm back on my bull again - so expect more of this and other works soon. (Hopefully, I will start publishing at Least bi-weekly).

It had been his idea to throw a party but, when Friday rolled around, he no longer wanted anything to do with it. He had considered calling it off but discarded the idea immediately. The only reason his parties had consistently impressive turn outs was because he, without exception, _never_ disappointed and he wasn’t about to, but he made a compromise.

After he set up the booze, food, and assorted party favors he went down to his basement with a bowl full of weed and let the party run itself. Thankfully, it was a house party and not one of his substance parties. He didn’t have to sell or play nice (or mean) to anyone, he could just chill and try to escape his head.

‘Try’ appeared to be the operative word, because he couldn’t manage to get his mind off the track it had gotten stuck on. And the weed, rather than helping, just made his thoughts weird. It had been his dad’s birthday yesterday and now he couldn’t stop wondering what he would have gotten him had he still been alive. He was so focused on that question that he barely noticed when Ronan joined him. They exchanged a few words, but Kavinsky wasn’t really paying any attention.

People came and left, coming for the weed and filtering out as they realized all the action was upstairs, but Ronan stayed. It didn’t necessarily bother him, but he would’ve chosen a better time. Ronan didn’t actually care about what he wanted though, he was just there because it was convenient. K knew that, knew intimately that Ronan would never actually like him. It was obvious that K was nothing more than a distraction for him, a way of hurting himself without committing to it.

Apparently, K wasn’t being entertaining enough though because, out of the blue, Ronan said, “Tell me a secret.”

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to say that he missed his dad, that he hadn’t been all bad. He wanted to say that he had _feelings_ for Ronan and that he hated him for it. That he didn’t want to like a guy in that way. It was all too much though, so in the end he thought back to one of the rumors he’d heard about himself. The rumor itself wasn’t upsetting – he’d started it after all – but the reason behind it was less than okay. He couldn’t tell Ronan that he’d made it seem like he was a man-whore to disguise the fact that he was afraid of sex, and there weren’t words he could use to explain that his dad had made him that way, but he did his best.

“I’ve never had real sex.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What’s ‘real sex’?”

He could’ve lied, played it off as a joke, but he decided to tell the truth. Maybe he’d been hoping it would end things before they got too real or maybe he’d just been sick of all the lying, but he knew the response he’d get when he said, “You know ‘consensual’ or whatever.”

If the disgusted look that crashed over Ronan’s face meant anything, he knew exactly what K had been implying. Ronan turned on him and started shouting. “What the fuck?! You sick piece of shit!”

K had expected the hatred and the vitriol, and he knew it to be right, so he let the punches and kicks rain down on him without resisting. There was something cathartic about being understood so thoroughly. For so long he’d never told anyone what his father had done, and now that he had he wished he’d done it sooner. K was obviously disgusting, as his first time and all the times after had been an incestuous hellscape, but sometimes he needed to hear it. It reassured him that he’d been right all along, brought it from his head to reality and gave him a break from reminding himself, and let him know that he wasn’t insane.

“You may tell yourself it’s not your fault, but I want you to know there’s _no one_ to blame but yourself.”  

Ronan was right about everything but the idea that he hadn’t known it was his fault from the very beginning. He knew. He knew deeply, intimately, that it had always been his fault. His father had been bad, but he hadn’t been a monster, he’d just been trying to help. 

“Die and go back to Hell.” Ronan turned to look back at him before leaving, casting one final judgement. “If I ever fucking see your face again, I might fucking kill you.”

 

Ronan’s parting words rang in his head like a church bell. He wasn’t religious, but there was something divine about not having to make the choice between life and death. It wasn’t as if a mere sentence held some perverse power over him, it didn’t, it just helped tip the scales.

Every day for more than a year he’d been on the precipice, always calculating and recalculating the pros and cons of living, but he could never completely decide. Nothing Ronan said had been spectacularly insightful, but at the very least it broke the tie. It was so much of a relief, no longer oscillating between living and dying, that the pain of the beating went unnoticed.

He was able to take the time to roll a blunt, peaceful at last, and straighten himself out before he walked up the stairs to his room. He ignored all the partygoers’ attempts at enticing him to join them and closed the door. The music could still be heard, as well as the roar of conversation, but it didn’t bother him. 

He sat on his bed and thought. The blunt burned and he enjoyed his last high. In his mind, when he’d offed himself it was always with a bang, but his gun was in the car and he didn’t want anyone asking any questions. He supposed the issue wasn’t pressing, he could always wait to do it differently, but the thought of bleeding out had its own appeal.

He waited until the blunt started burning his fingers before tossing it in the toilet and grabbing his switchblade from his dresser. It was, as most his possessions were, a dream thing. The handle was an obsidian black so dark it looked like a rainbow oil spill and the blade was even more showstopping. It appeared to be made of glass as it was completely see-through, but it was as firm and sharp as any other knife.

He grabbed a nearly empty bottle of vodka from his nightstand drawer and situated himself comfortably on the bed. In the movies, people always seemed to kill themselves in the bathroom to save their family the mess, but he didn’t have a family. When his mother noticed him gone – _if_ she noticed him gone – her one and only concern would be with finding a new supplier.

The vodka sloshed in the bottle as he took a deep drink before bringing the blade down on his wrist. He pulled the knife away from his arm and held it up in the light. As he did the blood dripped off, back onto the bed, until the blade was once again spotless. The same thing happened after the second and third cuts, and he grew mesmerized by the way the blood slicked down slowly, refusing to stick, like oil on water.

By the sixth cut he was substantially more drunk and couldn’t tell whether the lightheadedness he was experiencing was a result of that or indicated he’d been successful. He gave his left arm four slashes, just in case, and sat back, content to watch the blood drip down his forearms. Eventually, the distant din that was the party grew even more distant and it became too difficult to bother keeping his eyes open.

He could feel the world blurring out around the edges and he knew he’d achieved what he’d set out to, but that wasn’t what occupied his mind. Instead, all he could think of was that he’d inadvertently given his dad the best birthday present he could have asked for, but the darkness swept up too quickly and he didn’t have time to decide to be upset or pleased by the fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have more written already, it's just in chunks i need to make flow together. Some inspiration and some time (and maybe caffeine) and it will be good to go in no time (hopefully). Again, sorry about the lateness!


	3. Bet My Life Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a couple hours over my deadline, but I made it! I will set the same 1-2 week deadline for myself again, but because I have some stuff written I hope it ends up coming out sooner rather than later. As always, let me know if there's something you want to see!

The chirping noise was fucking annoying. K had a record-breaking headache and felt his stomach roil in protest as he tried to move. He’d had legendary hangovers before, but this was definitely one for the books; he couldn’t even remember what had happened, thinking just hurt too much to try. As much as he needed to, though, he couldn’t go back to sleep with the incessant beeping. He growled in frustration and barked out a raspy, “Shut the fuck up” before moaning and trying to cover his eyes with his arms. When he set his wrist on his face, though, he didn’t feel skin, but instead a strange fabric.

With immense force of will he plowed his eyelids open and sat up, hissing in pain as the effort made his chest clench. He felt like he’d been thrown around by a tornado, but even for a town like Henrietta that seemed unlikely. Then, very suddenly, it all came back to him. The bleakness of the previous day, his admission, Ronan’s reaction, the knife. Finally, he turned his head and saw his four friends situated in chairs around the room and realized his attempt hadn’t failed so much as been sabotaged.

It was obvious they knew he was awake as they were all staring at him, but no one spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it the heaviness it held made it something worse. He knew what they wanted; they wanted him to say thank-you, or say that he hadn’t meant it, that he had regrets, but he didn’t, and they knew it. In turn, K wanted to be mad at them, but he just wasn’t. He was too tired to be angry and he consoled himself with the fact that he could just keep trying until it stuck and, eventually, they’d give up on him.

So much was left unsaid, but nothing was missed. They all knew each other well enough to understand exactly what would have been said, but that was the only solid thing they had. His friends’ concern and the subsequent cold war regarding his life and death was old hat, but he’d never made it as far as he had this time. It wasn’t the first time he’d ended up in the hospital, but it was the first time he’d made no attempt to mask his intent. No one knew what the next steps were, and no one was willing to break the silence and risk starting a fight or relenting on their position. Since no one was going to speak, nothing was going to change, and he was still exhausted, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. 

He’d finally located the beeping sound but, unfortunately for him and his rest, it wasn’t one of his friends’ phones like he’d initially thought. It was the machine monitoring his pulse and, as he fought through the pain of turning his neck, he examined the screen and looked around for a volume button. He didn’t find anything of the sort but decided it didn’t matter when he found the morphine button. It wasn’t death or silence, but he’d take what he could get. He grabbed it and pushed the button ten times. The effects weren’t immediate, but they were close enough to suit his needs and, slowly, the beeping became less irritating, but his friends simply took over the job.

He heard Jiang kick at Proko and looked over to see him holding out his hand. With a huff and a roll of his eyes Proko handed him three twenties and Jiang pocketed the money gladly. Kavinsky may have been more high than not, but he was still quicker than most, even fucked up beyond all recognition, and he knew a bet when he saw one. He narrowed his eyes at them, making it clear he knew they’d placed money on his drug habits, but remained silent, unwilling to open the floor to conversation. He looked at them pointedly and made a show of reaching for the button again and pressing it excessively. The machine probably had limits on how much morphine it would give out, but he figured pressing it for the most he could get wouldn’t hurt. At the worst, he would end up dead, and that would just be its own sort of bonus.

Unfortunately, the button must have also alerted the nurses of his consciousness as a pair of hospital personnel soon appeared in the hall in front of the room. Kavinsky had noticed that the room lacked a door and wall, but he’d done his best to ignore why that was and what it meant for getting out of the hospital. That became much harder to do when the man with perfectly coiffed brown hair and blue scrubs grabbed a clipboard and sat down in a chair at the base of the bed facing Kavinsky. The other hospital person, in a peach blouse and pair of black slacks worked on ushering his friends out and closing the curtains behind her. Soon she sat next to the man and pulled out a small notebook and pen. Kavinsky was not a fan.

 

The man, who looked more like an Abercrombie model than a nurse, was the first to speak. “Hi, my name is Michael and I'm your nurse today.”

It was obvious he expected Kavinsky to introduce himself, but for that very reason and his general desire to be anywhere but there, he remained silent.

Michael looked awkwardly to his coworker for help. She was less spiteful than Kavinsky and picked up the conversation easily. “And I'm Amy, the hospital’s resident psychiatrist.”

“Hospital shrink”

She laughed lightly. “If that’s what you want to call me.” Kavinsky rolled his eyes at her pathetic attempts at bonding, but she continued. “We couldn’t get ahold of your parents with the numbers we have on file. Is there a better way to contact them?” 

He paused, surprised they had a file on him, before he remembered the time his mom had taken him to the hospital because he’d had a fever of 105. It was one of the few occasions she hadn't been out of her mind, and he’d been out of his. “Nope.”

She’d apparently expected a more detailed explanation. “What?”

“You’re not going to reach them.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

He knew she was phishing, and that he was giving away too much, but he just didn’t give a fuck. Besides, it wouldn’t have been awful to get a reaction out of the too cheery woman. “Daddy’s dead and mommy’s high.”

She copied something down in her notebook and Kavinsky narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t have expected anything else, so he couldn’t be truly angry.

“What brought you in here today?”

He purposefully misinterpreted her question. “My stupid friends.”

“They saved your life. They must care a lot.”

He rolled his eyes again and huffed. “Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

She wrote that down too. “How did you think they’d respond to your suicide?”

He could tell they were getting to the questions that would determine whether he was released sooner rather than later, so he fought through the haze the drugs brought on to respond correctly. “Who said it was suicide?”

“What would you call it?”

“A tragic mistake that won’t happen again.” He worried he might have been laying it on too thick, but he figured they couldn’t do anything if he answered the right way, whether they believed him or not.  

The nurse and psychiatrist exchanged a look, obviously not buying the line, but they didn’t call him out on it. “What were your thoughts just before you harmed yourself?”

The questions were getting trickier to navigate as he had to come up with genuine answers while ensuring they didn’t use it as an excuse to keep him there any longer. He decided to go for the most obvious, simple answer – one they must have already known. “I wanted to die.”

“When did you stop wanting to live?”

He thought it was bold of her to assume he’d ever started wanting to live in the first place, but he couldn’t say as much. “Just yesterday.”

She then wrote something down in her book, but it took much longer than the two words should have. “Have you ever tried to hurt yourself before then?”

“No.”

“What made you want to yesterday? Did something happen?”

That was hard to answer because if he said nothing, they’d think it hadn’t gone away, but he was having trouble coming up with something that had not only started yesterday but had also been solved in 24 hours until the perfect response hit him.  “My girlfriend broke up with me.”

“What made you think killing yourself was the best response?”

“It was a mistake.”

“What changed?"

“I realized she wasn’t worth it.”

“What made you realize that?”

“My friends.”

Michael suddenly took over, surprising Kavinsky. “Do you have any family history of mental illness?”

Kavinsky had no way of knowing the answer to that and it was stupid of them to ask. “No.”

“What’s life like at home?”

“Fine.”

Michael was apparently even more persistent than Amy was. “No, really. What’s an average day look like?”

It was weird and somewhat unbalancing, but Kavinsky ignored the fact that his throbbing headache had returned and continued to answer. “Wake up. Go to school. Come home. Go to bed.”

“What about on the weekends?”

Kavinsky really wanted to snap at him for asking irrelevant questions, but he was doing his best to convince them he was well adjusted, and he felt that wouldn’t help his case. Still, he couldn’t help but respond tersely. “Hang out with my friends.”

“What do you do?”

He went through everything they usually did from using copious amounts of drugs and booze, and racing cops, to vandalizing shit and throwing parties, but found nothing he could tell the nurse. “Play video games and basketball.” They sometimes played video games, but the only one who knew shit about basketball was Skov.

“What’s your favorite team?”

Thankfully, he’d learned the names of some teams through Skov’s obsession. “The Wizards.”

“Oh, they’re mine too!”

That was not good.

“How do you feel about the whole John Wall thing?”

Kavinsky could do nothing but shrug because he knew he’d give himself away if he tried to bullshit an answer and ended up keeping the conversation going.

“Yeah, same.” Michael huffed out a thoughtful chuckle before getting back on track. “I notice you didn’t mention your girlfriend, have you broken up before?”

He was so relieved that he’d gotten past the basketball questions he responded without thinking. “What girlfriend?” If he hadn’t realized his mistake instantly, the expressions he was met with would have informed him. He blamed it on the morphine and tried to patch up the giant hole he’d torn in his delicately woven story. “She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

Amy went back to asking the questions and Kavinsky had to admit his exhaustion was making it hard to keep up with all the back and forth. “Why’d you break up?”

“I don’t know. _She_ dumped _me_.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. She just texted me we were done.” Even though it had been false, the thought reminded him of his phone. He spoke before they could ask any more questions. “Where’s my phone?” He didn’t have anyone to text or call, but he had a strong urge to at least have it in his possession, and he knew one of his friends would have thought to grab it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find it anywhere and the answer he received was the opposite of promising.

“Sorry, but you can’t have your phone right now.”

“What the fuck?”

“It’s hospital policy.”

He’d seen people on their phones in hospitals in Jersey in the past, so he knew that wasn’t true. “Bullshit.”

Michael backed up his colleague. “It’s true.”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

“It’s just to make sure nothing makes the situation worse.”

“There is no situation! I told you I’m fine!” He may not have said as much exactly, but he’d definitely implied it. 

“What about your ex?”

“I’m over it!” There wasn’t even an ex to be upset about, but he was just about done with all their endless prying. He’d had a long night and a very long morning and all he wanted to do was go home and crash on his bed.

Amy stepped in with more questions. “How long was your relationship?”

He was still pissed, but he wanted to expedite the process and knew he wasn’t supposed to be over something long term, so he went with what he figured was a reasonably short time. “Two months.”

“And you were close enough to her that her leaving made you want to stop living?”

Maybe he’d gone a little bit too short. It didn’t matter though, he was through playing their stupid game. “Jesus, what does it matter?!”

“We’re just trying to help.”

“Well stop. I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Is there anyone you could go to if you needed help?”

For some reason that question hurt more than all the others. “It doesn’t fucking matter. I’m done here.”

“Done with living?”

He looked at Amy with disdain. “Done answering your gay ass questions. I’m signing out.”

The nurse interjected. “You haven’t been released.”

The nurse must have been as stupid as he was pretty. Kavinsky let his voice convey as much condescension as possible. “Yes. That’s why I’m signing out.”

Amy gave him a slightly pitying look. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care.”

She went on as if he hadn’t immediately dismissed her opinion. “I’m going to recommend impatient for the time being.”

Now _that_ Kavinsky hadn’t expected. He knew that a longer hospital-stay, made up of a couple more psych evals, was a possibility, but he’d never even considered being admitted somewhere, especially not when he’d lied through the whole thing to avoid anything of the sort. “What?” 

“Yeah, but don’t worry, it’s not a bad place. It’s actually –”

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not going.”

“I understand and respect that you don’t want to go, but I think you should, at least for a little while.”

“No.”

 She sighed and looked down at her notebook before closing it and looking up at him again. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s for the best.”

He narrowed his eyes at what her apology implied. “It’s not! I don’t need it and I’m not fucking going!”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“Neither am I!”

She handed him a pamphlet. “Here. Take a look at this and try to see it for the opportunity it is. Hopefully you’ll reconsider, but in the end it's up to the judge.”

“What judge?”

Michael had no problem being blunt. “The one who's going to determine whether we can admit you without your parents’ permission or not.”

Kavinsky scoffed, the answer seemed pretty clear to him. “You can't.”

“Well, that's what we're going to find out.” Amy’s comforting voice was really getting on his nerves, the entire situation had really gotten out of hand.

“Fuck off.”

She looked disappointed, but unsurprised at his reaction. Professional, through and through, she simply stood, brushed off her pants, and said, “We’ll give you some time to process everything, we’ll be back in an hour.”

As they left Kavinsky flipped them off before collapsing back against the bed, more exhausted than he’d initially been. He was consumed by a full-body unpleasantness, as if his bone marrow had been replaced by lead, and it was a chore just to move. He glanced down and saw the pamphlet that sat on his lap and snarled at it. The second after he flung it across the room, he regretted it as its light weight made it float gently down to the floor in a pathetic antithesis of his visceral rage.

After a few moments he regained his composure. The pamphlet and the judge didn’t matter. It might have made the situation more difficult, but he was still capable of escaping a simple hospital. He was a pro at breaking into places, it wasn't like breaking out could be that different.  


	4. The Heart Still Beats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after this and maybe the next chapter we'll be done with repeating scenes with just alternating points of view. Meaning that in the future, i'm just going to go forward chronologically with one perspective or the other - I think it will be easier/better to read that way. Let me know if there's a specific POV you want to see or a specific scene (or both)!

Soon after the disappointing duo left, his friends re-entered his room and were met with crossed arms and a very pointed glare. He’d planned on remaining silent, letting them speak first, but at their various expressions the words overflowed. “Why the fuck did you guys bring me here?!” Before they could answer his semi-rhetorical question, he continued. “Now they’re going to throw me in the fucking loony bin all because you bitches couldn’t leave me the fuck alone for a night.”

Swan stepped forward aggressively before shaking his head at himself and sitting down roughly in a chair next to Kavinsky’s bed. “K, I swear to God, if you didn’t look so pathetic, I’d beat the shit out of you right now.”

“Fucking _do it_ , pussy.”

“I’m not playing into your wack self-harm bullshit.”

“What the fuck’s your problem?”

Swan raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “What’s _my_ problem? _I_ didn’t try to kill myself over Ronan fucking Lynch.”

Kavinsky’s eyes lit up with fire even through all the morphine. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Blake.”

“Oh yeah?” Swan’s nostrils flared in tightly restrained anger. “I know more than you think.”

The way Kavinsky’s eyes went from fiery to dangerous was telling. “What _the fuck_ does _that_ mean?”

Skov stepped in, ready to play mediator as he’d done many times before. “I think he means that all the shit you’ve think you’ve been hiding from us doesn’t change our minds about you. You’re still you, you’re still our friend.”

Kavinsky heartbeat picked up as his breathing increased and the monitor didn’t let him hide that fact. He was uncertain which secret they were referring to and he didn’t want to risk validating their beliefs or telling them something new by speaking. Everyone noticed it and knew better than to push, but even when they worked to move past the subject, K remained silent.

They spent half an hour trying to get him to respond, talking amongst themselves in an attempt to craft a more relaxed atmosphere, but nothing worked. Eventually, they had to admit defeat and Proko and Jiang stepped outside to talk logistics. Before they got anywhere productive, though, they were interrupted by none other than Ronan Lynch.

Jiang had seen Ronan earlier that day, as had Swan, and they’d updated Proko on everything, but Proko was still surprised by the level of rage he felt at seeing Ronan’s face. He knew it had been a misunderstanding, a mistake, and he understood wanting to beat any rapist to a pulp (Proko had more than once fantasized about beating K’s father), but no amount of logic could assuage the acid building in his blood.

Ronan stood there, useless and harried, but physically fine. Jiang and Swan had gotten a solid hit or two in, and it showed, but it was nothing compared to the state Kavinsky was in. The fact of the matter was that, misunderstanding or not, Ronan had almost cost Kavinsky his life. No matter what Kavinsky said, it was undeniable that he most likely wouldn’t have attempted suicide that night had Ronan never showed up.

They all knew that Kavinsky wasn’t well, and hadn’t been for a while, but they were doing their best to help him ride out the lows and celebrate the highs and to have Ronan fucking Lynch waltz in and topple their work like no more than a house of cards was beyond infuriating. Proko was too worked up to speak, but luckily Jiang was the opposite of Proko and grew more verbal when angry.

“Leave.”

Proko would have said much worse had he been able to open his mouth and form words, especially at Ronan’s arrogant response.

“No. I need to see K.”

Finally, Jiang began saying what Proko was thinking.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you need, Lynch.”

“He deserves to know I didn’t mean it!”

Proko thought K deserved much more than that, but he still would have agreed with the sentiment had he not known that no simple visit would change the fact that K would never believe it.

“He deserves to never have to see your face again.”

“After I tell him.”

“Oh, fuck off! You don’t get to apologize to make yourself feel better and fuck him up even more.”

At least Ronan looked pained at Jiang’s comment, but he ruined it by speaking again.

“I have as much a right to be here as you!”

That was it. That was the final straw for Proko. He couldn’t take any more of Lynch’s narcissistic, selfish, demeanor. Not only had he trashed what Proko and his friends had been spending a large majority of their time on, he also refused to recognize that they’d done much more for Kavinsky than he ever had or would.

Proko spoke quietly, but only because he was worried Kavinsky would overhear and take it to heart (it may have been true, but he didn’t need to hear it). “You know you may have broken him, right? After everything that’s happened to him, it’s _you._ ” It hurt Proko to say, especially when it was as tragic as it was accurate. “It’s almost impressive, honestly, you should be proud – better yet, you should take your own advice and fucking kill yourself.” Before that moment, he had promised himself that he’d never tell anyone to kill themselves, but he hadn’t expected to ever genuinely wish someone the worst either.

Then Skov walked out, killing the momentum Proko’s tirade had gained, and said, “For some fucked up reason he wants to see you.”

Jiang’s surprised look mirrored how Proko felt. “He spoke?”

Skov scoffed. “Barely.”

Ronan took his chance to enter the room, obviously ignoring the vicious glares they were sending his way, and Swan joined them in the hall moments later. For a little while no one said anything, everyone too lost in their own thoughts to speak.

 

When they did speak, it was unsurprisingly Skov who broke the silence. “Who wants to bet he’s even more a mess after Lynch leaves?”

Swan huffed, obviously believing Kavinsky’s reaction was a given. “No bet.”

Skov rose his eyebrows in acknowledgement before letting out a deep sigh. “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

He was met with a heavy quiet, indicative of their mutual helplessness before Jiang spoke. “What we always do, man. Keep that stupid fucker alive.”

Swan spoke pensively after a beat, “You ever wonder if there’s a point?” When he was met with judgmental glares, he rubbed the back of his head and clarified. “I mean he obviously doesn’t want to live and who knows if he’ll ever get better? Are we just putting it off?”

Proko’s nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, but he spoke calmly, understanding the reasonableness of the question. “So what if we are? Doesn’t the chance he’ll get through it make it worth trying?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but … but what if what he’s been through isn’t something you can snap out of? Like, all our families aren’t shit, but it was K’s _dad_ , man. What the fuck.”

Proko rubbed his hands down his face and nodded. “I get it, man. It’s all fucking fucked.” He made sure to look at everyone before finishing. “But I’m not giving up. I like having him around, fucked in the head or not.”

Jiang snorted out a dark chuckle before agreeing. “Yeah, K’s like mold, piece of shit grows on you.”

Swan let out a deep breath at that and nodded. Buoyed by their solidarity he joined their unofficial pact. “I don’t know what’s so special about him, but damn, you’re right, whatever it is makes this bullshit worth it.”

Skov nudged him teasingly, “Aww, you do have a heart.”

Swan shoved him back. “Not for you, you ass.”

Their gradually lightening mood was abruptly tanked by the shouts that came out of Kavinsky’s room. At the frenzied ‘shut-up’ they tried to enter the room but were held off by an adamant nurse. They gave up fairly easily, well aware that handling Kavinsky’s problems sometimes demanded professional help. Still, Proko could barely restrain himself from attacking Ronan when he left the room, only held back by the commanding presence of the orderly.

They ended up waiting for fifteen more minutes after Ronan had been escorted out, but the moment the nurses gave them the go-ahead, they piled into the room. As they did as much, they were met with a sad sight. Kavinsky had his face hidden in the crook he’d made between his knees and chest but, as they settled around the room, he threw his head back over the pillow so he was looking up at the ceiling.

 

He still didn’t meet their faces, but it was something – enough to convince Skov to talk at the very least. He spoke gently, as cautiously as he knew how. “Why does Lynch matter so much?”

Kavinsky scowled, “He doesn’t.”

Swan stepped in, less tactful than Skov. “He keeps fucking you up man, he’s not worth dying over.”

Kavinsky just rolled his eyes. “I’ve wanted to die a long time before I met him.”

The truth brought with it a heavy silence and Proko was the only one strong enough to crack the sheen of ice that was forming over the room. “Well, we’ve wanted you not to die for a long time before you met him.”

The statement didn’t actually make much sense, but the sentiment came through clear as day. Still, Kavinsky didn’t buy it. “Why the fuck do you even care? You’re not actually my friends.”

Apparently, that was all he was willing to take sitting down, as Skov’s balanced demeanor instantly dissipated. “Say that again, and _I_ might beat the shit out of you.” While surprising coming from pacifistic Skov, Kavinsky was undeterred. He didn’t get to respond, however, as Skov kept talking. “Why _the hell_ would we keep trying to keep you alive if we weren’t your friends? Why the fuck would we be here right now?”

Swan piled on angrily, no less frustrated at K’s continued denial of their support. “Why would I have trashed the interior of my car rushing you here just to spend the whole night worried you’d die anyway?”

“Because you fucking need me –” K snapped. “– you want my dreams, my booze, my drugs, my parties; you’re no better than everyone else, you just want to be entertained.”

Everyone tried to speak at once, all livid at K’s pointed claim, but Jiang won. “My parents have three yachts and two summer homes and Cheng has parties all the time, I don’t need you.”

K tried to hide it, but it was obvious he was hurt by the comment. “Okay, then fucking let me do what I want. Doesn’t matter if I off myself.”

Jiang sighed dramatically. “Jesus, K. Just because I don’t _need_ you, doesn’t mean I don’t care if you die. We’re a squad, man, a damn family. I’d be a wreck if you died.” He muttered to himself, “Not that I should have to fucking say that, but _obviously_ you’ve got Issues.”

Proko spoke quickly, to stop Kavinsky from pouncing on Jiang’s jab. “Yeah, K. I don’t need you for any of that bullshit, I don’t even need you cause I’m your dream. I need you because you’re the only family I have.”

The word family was being thrown around a lot and it was making K uncomfortable. He didn’t know why, but it didn’t sit right with him. The point behind it all definitely didn’t make him feel worse – he was greatly affected by it even if he’d never say as much – but the word family felt wrong. He made sure to speak before he could start ruminating on their diction though. “Alright, alright, whatever, I get it.” It was obvious he didn’t. “But fuck, we don’t have much time.”

Proko spoke in exasperation. “You don’t fucking get it man.”

K looked at him like he was an idiot for misinterpreting his statement and spoke condescendingly. “We don’t have much time to get me the fuck out of here.” He started sitting up more, getting ready to leave. “I’m not going to let them fuck with my head anymore.” Jiang gave him a look, obviously dying to comment on how K was already fucked in the head, but K intercepted it with a glare. “Don’t.”

Jiang huffed in response, discontent with being bossed around, but moved on. “You’re a wreck K.” When K looked like he was about to speak, clearly thinking Jiang had decided to comment on his mental health anyway, Jiang explained. “I bet you can’t even stand. How the hell are you going to sneak out of here?”

Swan chimed in helpfully. “Yeah, they’ll be watching you like hawks, man, especially after your episode.”

The look on K’s face made it obvious he didn’t like Swan’s choice of words and was only ignoring it because he had more pressing issues to deal with. “No way I’m sticking around here to go to a fucking mental ward. I’m not fucking crazy.”

The silence he was met with first spoke louder than words, but eventually Skov couldn’t help but try to spin the situation in a positive light. “Maybe it won’t be so bad … maybe it will actually help.”

K snapped at that and stood up. “Fuck that and fuck you.” He quickly took out his IV’s and removed all the monitoring devices, swaying while he did, but just when he finished ridding himself of everything he crashed back down onto the bed and groaned. “Fuck.”

Within seconds two nurses and an orderly were back in his room. They once more shooed everyone out before turning to Kavinsky, and he was left alone to deal with the consequences of his action, something  he always did his best to avoid.

 

The pain he was feeling mixed with his headache and made it nigh impossible to open his eyes without getting nauseous. He did it anyway when he felt someone place a cold hand on his elbow. As he flickered his eyes open into a glare he was met with Michael’s bright green eyes and immediately yanked his arm out of his grip.

Michael didn’t look offended, instead he just sat down in the chair closest to the bed and gathered supplies while speaking softly. “I’m just going to re-do your IVs, it seems they must have come out when you fell.”

K couldn’t help but be snap at the nurse. “I didn’t fall.”

“Okay. What happened?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you call for one of us to help you?”

“I can go to the fucking bathroom by myself, I’m not a fucking invalid.”

“Yes, but you just lost a lot of blood, you need to be careful about getting up too quickly.”

“Or maybe you need to shut the fuck up and let me out of here.”

Michael ignored his gripes once again and stood, putting down the tubes and needles as he did. “Let's get you to the bathroom before we hook you up again.”

Kavinsky huffed but went to stand up without arguing, seeing the chance for what it was. Michael helped him up and Kavinsky hated to admit it, but it was in fact, helpful. Thankfully, he managed to walk on his own as he followed Michael out of the room.

He considered making a break for it before they got to the bathroom, but he wanted to put Michael at ease before trying anything, besides, he did actually have use the bathroom. As he entered and went to close the door, though, he was met with a foot and Michael’s apologetic, yet unyielding voice, “Sorry, but we can’t close it.”

Kavinsky yanked the door open completely to stare at him angrily. “What the absolute fuck?”

“It’s policy.”

After some intense debate K decided to go with it, if only to seem complacent. He still tried to slam the door closed, hopefully bruising Michael’s foot in the process. He pissed and washed up quickly, and spent most of his time gathering his resolve and energy in front of the mirror in an attempt to work up enough adrenaline to fight off both his pained fatigue and the lingering morphine. Finally, he kicked the door open and walked out of the bathroom but stopped before going too far and waited for Michael to start walking.

Michael did no such thing. He was apparently an expert on ‘policy’ as he refused to walk ahead of him and instead said, “Go ahead.”

K wasn’t pleased by the development, but it wasn’t enough to deter him. He walked as fast as he could without running, trying to gain some distance, but Michael kept up easily. It didn’t give him much confidence, but he wasn’t going to waste his opportunity.

As they reached a T in the hallway, he knew he was supposed to turn left, but instead went right. At first, he walked normally, pretending he’d just lost his way, but once Michael realized he was ignoring his calls and started rushing after him, he booked it.

 

The burning in his lungs and the blurring of his vision were secondary to his goal. He hadn’t had a chance to get a layout of the hospital but, luckily, he was quick on his feet. The elevator pinged open on his left and as soon as it emptied, he rushed in and frantically pressed the door close button. It was a risk as he wasn’t sure how far behind him Michael was, and he wasn’t certain that the elevator wasn’t one that would open on the same floor after being closed.

His heart beat as rapidly as it did at the starting line of a race as he urged the door to close faster than its normal snail’s pace. It finally did and as it started moving up he was able to take a breath and assess the situation. When he’d entered, he’d pressed all the buttons as it didn’t matter where he went as long as they couldn’t track it, but he still had no idea where he was going.  

When it opened to an empty floor, one floor above where he’d started, he went on instinct and slid out of the elevator. He followed the signs to the stairs as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself and, when he pushed through the door, he automatically headed up and didn’t stop until he reached the fourth and final floor. Once he exited, he had to take a break to catch his breath and wait out the wave of dizziness he was feeling.

The dizziness, instead of dissipating, turned to nausea and he found a trashcan to throw up in before straightening up and wiping off his mouth. He took a few more deep breaths and squinted his eyes to fight off the steadily encroaching tunnel vision and managed to stay standing. When he felt steady enough to take a few steps he did as much and, thankfully, the elevator wasn’t too far away.

It dinged open fairly soon after he requested it and it was blissfully empty. He dragged himself in and allowed himself to lean heavily against the handle bar on the elevator’s sides and close his eyes after he pressed the proper button for the first floor.

As the elevator reached the first floor, he forced his eyes open and steeled himself for the final push. He stood in the lobby outside the elevator stupidly for one moment before locating the emergency exit. He wasn’t stupid enough to try going for the main entrance but using the side exit came with its own risks. It would inevitably draw a lot of attention and he knew he’d have to sprint as soon as he opened it.

He got there successfully and took one more deep breath before pushing it open. It blared deafeningly, as he’d expected, and he ran. There wasn’t a car he could escape in, so he just ran, hoping to get far enough away to find a place to hide long enough to either gather himself or wait them out. He ran towards the back end of the hospital, but saw orderlies looking his way suspiciously and quickly rerouted towards the parking structure.

The suspicious orderlies soon grew more confident in their assessment and chased after him. He had had a fair head start, but he felt they were catching up. Looking back wasn’t an option though so he couldn’t tell for sure. It ended up not mattering because, just as he heard the footsteps gaining on him, he fell. He couldn’t be certain whether he’d tripped or passed out, but the result was the same either way, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was one of the orderlies overly clean white shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to hit me up with any requests for chapters, scenes, or anything really.


	5. Big Fucking Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this update (ch. 7 & 8) and before my next update I will rearrange the chapters and move these chapters back or forth so the whole thing reads chronologically regardless of POV. From this point forward the chapters will not overlap, so there will be no confusing backtracking when POVs switch. I will still switch between POVs, but in a more sensible manner (lol).

Kavinsky woke up much as he had the first time, thirsty and in a lot of pain, but this time he remembered exactly what had happened. It was dark out, or at least the lights were off, so he didn’t bother opening his eyes as he thought. There was no question he’d made a valiant effort, but it was also clear he had failed horrendously. He wasn’t ready to quit, but it was hard to remain confident.

At the very least he knew that now, if he were to escape, he couldn’t come at it the same way. Kavinsky thought on the matter for a while before realizing his major flaw had been the hastiness of it all. Because he’d been forced to throw it together at the last minute, he hadn’t been able to use all of the resources at hand.

In his next attempt he would enlist his friends and manage to pull off a more fool-proof plan. As he lay in the uncomfortable hospital bed, planning out the parts of his upcoming plot, he began to second-guess himself. He wasn’t sure when the hospital would try to transfer him to the mental bin, but if it happened before visiting hours he’d be royally fucked. On top of that, it was possible that the nighttime, when the staff was virtually cut in half, would be the optimal time to escape. 

He couldn’t decide, but he didn’t want to pass up his best opportunity to leave so he thought the idea bore investigating. When he opened his eyes though he was startled into a sitting position. He soon realized the unwelcome nighttime visitor, sitting in the doorway, was no more than an orderly, but his heartrate took obnoxiously long to accept that. As the rapid beeping was broadcasted in the room the orderly rose his head to look at Kavinsky.

As if his botched escape hadn’t been embarrassing enough, he now had to deal with irrational freak-outs. He eventually gathered his composure, but it took longer than normal as he didn’t have any of his usual tools and when he looked for the morphine button it was mysteriously absent. In his search for that phenomenal dispenser he was distracted by a bright red flash of color.

At first, he thought it was simply a stain from where he’d bled through his bandages while running, but they must have been changed as they were once again starch white. No. This new red wasn’t the color of blood, but an obnoxious highlighter red in the form of a thick wristband. It was larger than the rest of his hospital tags combined and said, in bold blocky letters, ‘FLIGHT’. Obviously, it had to come off, but it was proving to be more difficult to remove than even the most tenacious of concert wristbands.

He noticed the orderly staring and vaguely registered him saying something into a radio, but he ignored it. They may have been able to keep him there for the night, but he wasn’t going to let them humiliate him. As he focused on removing the ridiculous bracelet, he missed the psychiatrist’s approach, only noticing her when she stopped at the base of his bed.

She then pulled a chair up and got comfortable before fixing Kavinsky with an assessing look and saying, “Hi.” When he didn’t respond she continued, tapping a pen on her knee. “So, is it safe to bet you’re not going to tell me why you tried to escape?”

He replied caustically. “Is it safe to bet your still trying to send me away?”

She answered his question with one of her own. “Why are you so opposed to inpatient?”

He had to scowl at that. “Why am I so ‘opposed’ to being locked up in crazy person jail? Big fucking mystery.”

“It’s not like that –”

He could see the circle that conversation was looping back around to and he wanted to shorten their talk in any way possible, including by irritating the fuck out of the psychiatrist. “Why are you so obsessed with putting me in the loony bin? What the fuck did I do to you, bitch?”

Amy shook her head. “It’s nothing personal. I just have experience with your demographic.”

“What the fucks that supposed to me?”

She tightened her ponytail, a subtle nervous tick, before sighing and meeting Kavinsky’s gaze straight on. “I’m going to be honest with you because I don’t think you’d listen otherwise.” When Kavinsky just narrowed his eyes and refused to speak, she went on. “I’m not letting you go because I know what would happen if I did.” Before Kavinsky could refute her claim she continued with a heavy sigh. “I’ve seen it before. If I let you out, you’d be in the morgue or in jail within the year.” That struck something deep in Kavinsky’s chest, but he managed to conceal his reaction as she finished her speech. “And you’re so young. Too young. You have so much to offer the world and I’m not going to let you throw it away simply because you’re in too much pain to see that right now.”

She had finally finished talking, but Kavinsky was too overwhelmed to speak for a few moments. When he regained his balance, he spoke bitterly. “You wouldn’t say that shit if you actually knew me.”

Amy didn’t blink. “Yes, I would.”

He simply shook his head and ground his teeth, unable to meet her eyes.

“What do you think makes you so unworthy?”

He was about to tell her to fuck off when the nurse from earlier appeared. “You two ready?”

Kavinsky looked between the two of them suspiciously. “For what? You know what. It doesn’t matter. I’m not ready for whatever shit you have planned.”

Michael laughed as if Kavinsky was joking.

Amy stood up and grabbed her things. “Yeah, we're ready.”

Michael walked to Kavinsky’s cot and started messing with the cords and wires he was hooked up to. “Since we have to take the med van anyway, it will be easier to just move this.” As he said that he put his foot on the back of the bed and took off the safety.

Kavinsky backed up even further and tried to orient himself on the moving bed, but as soon as they exited the room they were surrounded by orderlies. Even still he would have tried to jump and run had there been a single gap of space big enough.

At first, he spent his time shouting obscenities at the hospital staff, but when they loaded him the car and started moving towards the mental institute, he fell silent. He couldn’t help but think of what Amy had said. She may have stayed behind at the hospital, but her words echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t surprised at her prediction that he’d be dead or incarcerated within a year – that was sort of the plan – but he hadn’t expected her to say he had something to offer the world. It was obviously cookie cutter psychologist bullshit. He wasn’t affected by it or anything he’d just been caught off guard.

He was similarly shocked by the van’s sudden arrival at their destination. It was dark, and he could tell they were going around the back, but from what he saw it looked like the architect had been going through a stylistic transition during the building of the facility.

One half of it looked like a slightly more comfortable, less antiseptic, hospital and the other looked like modern mansion trying very hard to look rustic. With its white exterior, visibly pristine even in the dark, and its abundance of floor to ceiling windows it failed to look like the farmhouse it wanted to be and looked more like a museum of some historical landmark. Kavinsky knew he’d like it even less in the daylight.

He didn’t have much time to ponder that thought, though. And, before he knew it, he was being ushered out of the van and into a room where he was given a pair of clothes and told to dress. He did as much, not because he cared for their approval, but because he much preferred the gray sweat pants and long-sleeved shirt to the paper-thin hospital gown.

Soon a lady with a name badge entered the room and told him the tour would take place in the morning and that he should ‘try to get some rest after his trying day.’ She also said, “it’s normal to be afraid”, but Kavinsky just told her to ‘fuck off’ and ignored her presence until she did as much.

He didn’t go to sleep. Whether he would have been able to or not he wouldn’t know as he refused to try. Instead he spent the few hours until daybreak thinking of how he’d get out of his veritable prison. Nothing came to him, but he figured he was at a disadvantage as he hadn’t seen the place in full light.

Surely that would change things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the chaos of this first part, I just couldn’t choose between POVs – I love all the characters too much. If there’s a certain scene you would like another POV on, just hit me up and I’d be more than happy (extremely happy) to write it, I’d just put it in another location. Also, let me know if there’s anything you want to see. I can’t promise it will make it in, but at the very least it could be very helpful inspiration


	6. Glass Walls

He went to school Monday just to see K, needing to know that he was alright. Needing anything that would lessen the guilty burden he bore. Yet, he wasn’t there. For the entire week Ronan had perfect attendance, checked every corner and crevice he could think of, but still nothing. By Friday he’d very nearly lost his mind and the only thing he’d gained for his efforts was the attention of his friends.

Adam and Gansey just wanted to make sure he was okay, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but resent them for it anyway. He very much wasn’t okay, and their continuous prodding just reminded him of the fact. He couldn’t tell them what the issue was though, so he’d ended up snapping at them. They had let it go after that, but he knew the peace was only temporary.

The whole thing had gone on for too long, as evidenced by the fact that he’d snapped at Matthew over nothing. He had thought it impossible with how abysmal he’d been feeling from the beginning, but the days just kept growing longer and darker as he went unforgiven. When the next week came around and Kavinsky was still nowhere to be seen, he knew he had to act or risk exploding.

He shared Math with Skov and Proko, both of whom had been steadfastly ignoring him beyond the occasional glare. When he reached the classroom and saw how they tensed at his arrival, it was clear they wouldn’t make it easy for him. Proko obviously wouldn’t be any help, so Ronan wasn’t going to even try, but, so far, he hadn’t really had any negative run-ins with Skov. He didn’t seem much happier about Ronan’s presence than Proko had, but he remained Ronan’s best bet. “Skov.”

He didn’t turn in his chair to face Ronan, but he knew he’d been heard.

“Skov.”

Proko then served him a sour look, as if he was the one being pestered.

“Skov.”

Persistence proved its worth when Skov responded.  “If it’s about K, you can shut the fuck up and go to hell.” He corrected himself. “You know what? No. If it’s about _anything_ you can shut the fuck up and go to hell.” He then turned in his seat, very obviously rejecting the notion of Ronan’s continued existence.

Ronan, who was not deterred, kept on existing out of spite and said, “I just want to know if he’s okay.”

Proko and Skov then gave him similar looks of tarry anger and disgust. The sheer focus they pointed his way was so obvert that even Ronan, far from uncomfortable with public confrontation, was glad they had five minutes before the classroom started to fill.

After a few more moments of non-verbal animosity, Skov spoke. “Why?”

“Because he’s my friend and I feel like shit about what happened."

“Bullshit.” Ronan was about to protest, but Skov continued talking before he could. “You don’t know shit about him. You don’t know him.”

“Fuck off, you don’t get to choose his friends for him.”

“I’m not, I’m just saying you aren’t his friend.” He held up a hand to stop Ronan from interrupting him. “No. Do you know his birthday?” When Ronan didn’t immediately reply, he kept going. “His middle name? No? His mom’s name? His favorite color?” Ronan didn’t know any of those things, but he didn’t think they were important. That must’ve shown on his face because Skov switched tacks. “Do _you_ help him when he needs you to? Do _you_ pretend not to notice his breakdowns? Do _you_ know what not to say? Do _you_ know how he gets when-”

Proko interrupted him with a warning, “Skov.”

Skov responded to him in rapid, angry Polish before turning back to Ronan. “No, you don’t, because you _don’t_ know him, you _aren’t_ his friend, and all you do is make his and our lives harder.”

“It was a mistake! I didn’t know that –” He cut himself off when he saw people coming in the room. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not just this! You’ve been leading him on all fucking year.”

He took a minute to genuinely consider the matter before responding seriously. “Who says I’ve been leading him on?”

Skov’s eyebrows narrowed, obviously believing he was being toyed with. “Oh, fuck off Lynch.”

“I’m serious.”

“Serious about what?”

“About him.”

Then Proko stood and only took a moment to grunt angrily before punching Ronan square in the jaw. Instinct kicked in and Ronan was out of his seat in a minute, but Proko had already grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in close. He spoke quietly, directly into Ronan’s ear, but it was no less menacing for the subterfuge. “If you’re fucking around –” Ronan shook his head, and Proko continued. “If you fuck this up, if he gets hurt because of you, I’ll kill you. If you do something now out of pity change your mind later, I’ll fucking murder you and disfigure your corpse so that even Dick III won’t recognize you. If this is some sort of game to you, if this is a joke, I will rip your spleen out and feed it to your fucking crow.”

Ronan could’ve pushed Proko off his neck any time, but he was almost certain he deserved everything they were throwing at him and more. That made Proko’s words even harder to understand. For a moment he was distracted by the urge to correct Proko’s taxonomic failure, but he shoved that aside and attempted to truly parse out the meaning of his words.

If he’d been a more hopeful person, he would’ve taken it as Proko’s version of the ‘friend’ talk, but that seemed insane. As insane a thought as it was, he didn’t know what else to think when Proko followed up his speech by handing Ronan a sticky note with an address scribbled down. There was no other information on the small square, and Proko didn’t clarify anything, but Ronan figured asking him to – or anything beyond complete silence – would be pushing his luck.

He decided to use his phone and search the address instead of pay attention to the lecture and very quickly learned it was a mental hospital. Technically, it was a “behavioral health center”, but Ronan wasn’t an idiot, he knew a euphemism when he saw one. It wasn’t surprising that Kavinsky ended up there, it made a lot more sense than many other things, but for some reason Ronan hadn’t expected it.

Before he’d even know where it was, he’d known he was going. Maybe he should’ve been more torn over the decision, but as it was he could barely sit through the class without running out the door to his car. The second the bell rang, Ronan was out of his seat. He managed to shove through the throng of students trying to leave and was in his car, pealing out of the parking lot, before the final bell stopped ringing.

 

He walked into the white lobby of the address he’d been given and was suddenly uncertain. As he waited in what he assumed was the visitor check-in line, he had time to realize there was no reason for him to be there. Even more relevant, there was no reason for Kavinsky to agree to see him. Still, the nauseous feeling that had been plaguing him ever since he’d been shooed from Kavinsky’s hospital room, made the effort worth it.  

When he reached the desk, he showed the slightly overweight security guard his ID and told him who he was there to see, and the man conferred with a list. Apparently, Ronan’s name was on said list because the man returned his ID and told him where to go without any further interrogation. Ronan took that as a dismissal and started walking where he’d been directed, but before he got two steps away the guard called him back.

“We need to check you for contraband first.”

“What?” 

“Do you have any guns, knives, or weapons of any sort on your person currently?”

“No.”

“Cigarettes, tobacco, alcohol, prescription pills, or any illegal drugs?”

“No.” 

“Lighter, matches, or any other incendiary objects including gasoline?”

“No.”

The man said, “Okay”, but instead of simply releasing Ronan, he turned around and grabbed a large plastic bag. “Keys, phone, and wallet in here.”

Ronan’s voice might have been a little sharper than necessary, but he was getting irritated at all the stupid rules. “What? Why?”

“They’ll be safe here until you leave.”

“No, dipshit, why would I leave them here at all?”

“You don’t have to, but then you can’t visit your friend.”

It was a bullshit non-answer answer, but there wasn’t anything Ronan could do to argue the point, so he obliged. Finally, he was allowed to leave the odd lobby and head through two sets of doors, both of which had to be remotely unlocked, towards the unit Kavinsky was in. Once he passed three brilliant outdoor gardens and a small stream he arrived at the entrance to the ward. 

Apart from the high-tech doors Ronan had been forced to navigate through and the large, impenetrable walls enclosing everything, it looked like a rustic farmhouse. It was hard to tell just how many rooms the building had, but by looking in through the wall-length windows facing the meadow, Ronan could see a grand dining table that could’ve sat about twenty people and still been somewhat empty.

A butterfly landed on his shoulder and he realized he was being ludicrous just standing outside, too afraid of being rejected to knock. He grabbed his pride and sanity from where it had fallen and forced himself up the few alabaster steps to the door. There was a heavy metal knocker, but with such a large building he wasn’t confident anyone would hear even the loudest of knocks. 

Only a few seconds after he rang the doorbell, a lady in pastel green scrubs answered the door with a cheery smile. “Hello dear, are you Ronan?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

She then led him down a series of halls so quickly he couldn’t take stock of much, but from what he did see he had to say it wasn’t awful. He might not have volunteered to stay there himself, but it was better than most. It was even better than the dorm halls Aglionby had spared no cost on. 

After all the twists and turns, Ronan ended up at a small sitting room, a solarium, looking out at the meadow he’d just been standing in. The fact that he was facing the same direction as before was nonplusing, but he was much more focused on the figure sitting in the large, obnoxiously blue, armchair.

The nurse left without any fanfare and Ronan walked around until he was blocking Kavinsky’s view of the outside. “I’m surprised you let me in.”

He looked up at him and Ronan wished he’d had his sunglasses on, because without them he looked too raw. It didn’t help that his eyes were large enough on his face to make him look innocent if only he ever kept his mouth shut.

 

“I’d say I’m surprised you came, but I’m not. You feel guilty, right? You’re here to fix that, yeah?”

While it was true, it wasn’t the entire truth, and Ronan had to make that clear. “I just -”

Before Ronan could explain himself Kavinsky kept talking. “That was rhetorical dumbass.” There were many things Ronan wanted to say, but Kavinsky didn’t give him the chance. “Do this one thing for me and we’ll call it even.”

Previously, Kavinsky had refused to even accept that Ronan was blameworthy, and now he was proffering absolution like a carnival prize. Even as the alternative of eternal guilt nipped at his heels, Ronan was hesitant to even hear Kavinsky’s demands. It wasn’t so much that he was worried Kavinsky would ask for something ludicrous – he was almost certain he would; no, what Ronan was worried about was his willpower to deny the request.

Kavinsky was a God at manipulating things, from situations and words to people, but Ronan was usually able to sidestep all the chaos. Now though, Ronan wasn’t feeling up to standing firm against Kavinsky, especially considering he’d been the cause of his sorry state. Only when Kavinsky snapped his fingers impatiently did Ronan realize that he’d zoned out. He nodded to buy himself some more time and Kavinsky explained his demands.

“Help me get out of here.”

“I can’t get them to let you go.”

“I didn’t say anything about them letting me go.”

“You want me to help you break out of a mental hospital?”

Ronan’s question had been asked purely because the outlandishness of the demand bore re-stating, but Kavinsky clearly took it as mockery. He turned away from Ronan to stare at the wall and said, “Fuck you, Lynch."

Ronan walked around until Kavinsky was once again facing him. “Hey, I’m not saying that to be a dick.”

Kavinsky just huffed and steadfastly refused to look at him.

“I mean … I don’t know, man … maybe …”

“Just fucking spit it out.”

“Maybe they’re not letting you out for a reason.”

“It’s your fucking fault I’m in here. The least you can do is help me escape.”

Ronan wanted to feel mad, he wanted to get angry, but he couldn’t. In a baggy sweatshirt and pants, with gauze still covering his wrist, Kavinsky looked like he belonged there. More than anything, though, it was just too sad and, the more Kavinsky said, the guiltier Ronan felt. He still didn’t think he’d be ‘helping’ Kavinsky at all by aiding his escape. “Why do you need to get out so bad?”

“I’m in a fucking loony bin for fucks sake! I don’t belong here!”

It was an awkward truth that Ronan had to say, but his life had never been easy. “You tried to kill yourself, K.”

“If I want to off myself I don’t see what the big fucking deal is.”

“Yeah, that sounds sane.”

Kavinsky scoffed and shook his head in disgust. “Fucking hypocrite.”

“That was a dream.”

“We both know it’s the same fucking thing, man.”

“Yeah, and so what?”

“So, you deserve to be in here just as much as I do.”

Ronan disagreed for a number of reasons, but he couldn’t say them without sounding like a total asshole. “I don’t want to die anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” Kavinsky snorted, apparently thinking Ronan had broken his rule on lying. “Why’s that? What do you have to live for?”

It was a mean thing to say, and Kavinsky had definitely wanted it to hurt, but Ronan could read him better than his friends thought he could, and he knew the question was genuine. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to die as much anymore.”

Kavinsky snorted again and said, “Bullshit”, but he didn’t ask any more questions.

Since he hadn’t been sent away yet, Ronan invited himself to sit down on the chair facing Kavinsky’s. He had some questions even if Kavinsky didn’t. “Why don’t you blame me?”

“Really? You’re still on that?”

“Yeah.”

Kavinsky waited for Ronan to say more but, unfortunately, Ronan held his tongue and he was forced to speak. “I expected you to react that way.”

“You wanted me to get the wrong idea?”

Kavinsky was quick to cut of Ronan’s line of thought with a sharp, “No.”

“So then … why’d you expect me to do shit like I did?”

“I don’t fucking know, man. I just did.”

“That’s sort of fucked up, K.”

“What happened to feeling guilty?”

Ronan’s self-deprecating laugh was almost answer enough, but not quite. “I can still feel like shit even if you’re fucked in the head.”

Kavinsky’s eyes narrowed. “Get fucked.”

Ronan sighed.t wasn’t like before. He didn’t know if that was necessarily a bad thing – it was too soon to tell – but it was a new thing nonetheless. “I wouldn’t have said any of that shit if I’d known what you meant.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Yes. It does!”

The way Kavinsky’s nostrils flared betrayed his anger. “Okay, Lynch, you know what? You win. Go ahead. Tell me what you would have said if you ‘knew’? Fucking enlighten me.”

When Ronan had said he wouldn’t have said what he did he had been telling the truth, but he hadn’t thought about what he would’ve said. “Um.”

Kavinsky looked at once victorious and self-hating. “Told you s-”

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Kavinsky huffed and looked out the window, obviously annoyed, but Ronan just used the time to formulate a semi-coherent response. “I would’ve said what happened to you was fucked and wasn’t you fault.” Ronan picked at his wristbands and had to look down when Kavinsky turned back to face him. “And … I don’t know … maybe I would’ve asked if you were okay.”

Kavinsky snorted bitterly, “Horse shit.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, yeah, maybe not.” After a beat and a skip of his heart he decided to move past what their friendship (or not friendship according to Skov) had been before – everything was new and weird already, what was one more thing. “But I’m asking now. Are you okay?”

At Ronan’s question Kavinsky started picking at his bandages, unconsciously mimicking Ronan. “Yeah. No. I don’t fucking know man.” He sighed before yanking the discussion up to lighter territory. “They don’t let you have internet, or tv, or phones here. I’m sober and fucking bored.”

Before Ronan could reply, the nurse walked in and apologetically said, “Five minutes until visiting times over.”

Kavinsky responded unkindly. “Fuck off.”

“Joseph.” She sounded upset, but not surprised.

“I told you cunts not to call me that.”

“And we told you not to cuss.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kick me out?”

She just sighed deeply and shook her head in disappointment before turning her full attention to Ronan. “Three minutes, then out, got it?”

“Got it.”

As the woman left Kavinsky glared at Ronan in betrayal. Ronan gave a half-assed attempt to defend himself. “They’ll just keep you longer if you’re a dick.”

Kavinsky rolled his eyes. “Guess I’m never leaving.”

Ronan huffed out a genuine laugh. “Guess not.”

The three minutes had dwindled to none impossibly quickly, but Ronan didn’t want to get banned from visiting so he stood. “I should go.”

There was an awkward silence, but eventually Kavinsky spoke, more tentatively than Ronan had ever heard before, “Are you –”

When it became obvious Kavinsky had made up his mind about not continuing, Ronan pushed. “What?”

Kavinsky looked away. “Just get the fuck out, Lynch.”

Ronan moved to do as much, but before he turned the corner he looked back and called back to Kavinsky. “K?” Only when he looked at Ronan did he continue. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters in progress (K's POV should be coming up pretty soon in the sequence). LMK if there's anything you want to see! (Also, always down for prompts - related to this fic or otherwise :) )


	7. Doctors, Meds, and Beds, Oh My

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this update (ch. 7 & 8) and before my next update I will rearrange the chapters and move these chapters back or forth so the whole thing reads chronologically regardless of POV. From this point forward the chapters will not overlap, so there will be no confusing backtracking when POVs switch. I will still switch between POVs, but in a more sensible manner (lol).

When he woke up it was to the depressing realization that he had failed once again. Failed to bring anything back with him. Failed to escape. Failed to die in his sleep.

Failed.

Failed.

Failed.

He knew exactly why he’d been unsuccessful, but that didn’t make the situation any less loathsome. As a matter of fact, the reason behind the problem may have been worse than the problem itself.

The truth was that he hadn’t tried dreaming without his dream drugs in a long time. He hadn’t had to and, as long as he remembered to restock them, it wasn’t a problem. Now that he couldn’t access them though, he was beginning to hate his complacency. It wasn’t like he needed the drugs to dream – he could dream fine without them – but he worried.

The green pills didn’t give him any more power than he already had, they simply gave him control. With their help he could enter and leave a dream at will. More importantly, under their influence, he couldn’t take something back unintentionally. Only that level of confidence, absolute faith, in the fact that he not only wouldn’t, but _couldn’t¸_ take a souvenir back with him, allowed him to truly dream. With the contents of his nightmares anything less than one-hundred percent certainty was stupid.

The biggest problem was that, even without the green pill, he dreamed. They just had less intention to them. When he didn’t fall asleep with something concrete in mind, he had normal nightmares, but he still worried they’d be brought to life if he was inattentive, so he tried not to sleep. Unfortunately, the staff at _Willow Acres_ had taken it upon themselves to dose him with sleeping medication every night.

The couple of times he’d managed to avoid taking the medication they’d ending up sedating him anyway and, since he was just more thoroughly trapped when that happened, he took his medication. He refused to do any and everything else though, if only to make their lives more difficult (if sometimes those actions brought him closer to the probability of escaping or dying, all the merrier).

After five days there, though, he’d tried nearly everything he could think of and was no closer to escaping the infernal hell than before. He was nowhere near done trying – he’d just have to be more creative – but Ronan’s outright refusal to help had been slightly debilitating.

Kavinsky had been sure that, if anyone would help, it would’ve been martyr-complex Lynch. No one else had taken him up on his plea, but that’d been okay because he’d thought that, as long as Ronan showed up, he would go along with the plan.

That hadn’t happened, though, and now that it had failed to serve its purpose, the level of guilt Ronan clearly felt for what had happened was uncomfortable for Kavinsky to witness. When Ronan looked at him with such penance (a look that verged far too close to pity for Kavinsky’s liking), he was forced to remember exactly what had happened as well as the fact that he was fucked up for thinking the way he did about everything. It wasn’t exactly news – he knew he was fucked up – but the reminder was unhelpful.

 

He was interrupted from his introspection when one of the nurses rudely opened his door without knocking and said in an overly cheery voice, “Morning! It’s time for breakfast!”

Kavinsky just rolled back onto his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head. She came over and gently tugged the pillow away from him, and he let her, just so his hands were free to flip her off. When she spoke Kavinsky knew from the sound of her voice that her hands were planted firmly on her hips. “You didn’t eat all day yesterday. You’re not allowed to skip anymore meals.” He didn’t move a muscle and she tsked at his now-standard obstinance. “We can’t let you go until we know you can take care of yourself.”

He spun around angrily and sat up to point accusingly in her face. “I was doing fine before you fuckers kidnapped me!”

She raised her eyebrows judgmentally. “You tried to kill yourself because you were doing fine?”

“Fuck you.”

“We’re just trying to help you, Joseph. You need to eat.”

“Fuck you, I’ll eat when I get out of this hell hole.”

“You’re not getting out of this “hell hole” until you eat.”

He narrowed his eyes at her in challenge, “Guess I’ll die here then.”

She pursued her lips but didn’t look cornered like Kavinsky had hoped she would. “You can’t manipulate us into letting you out early, Joseph.”

His hands had found their way into his hair and were busy pulling as she continued frustrating him, more and more with each word. “Don’t fucking call me that!”

She held up her hands, placatingly, “Alright, I’m sorry.”

After a couple breaths he forced himself to take his hands away from his hair, aware it didn’t make his image as a sane person very credible. He ground his jaw and looked away as she sat down on the foot of the bed. She tried to get him to look at her before eventually giving up and speaking anyway. “I mean it. You can’t manipulate us into letting you go by not eating. They’ll just send you back to the hospital where you’ll have a tube put down your throat.”

He looked at her in shock and with a significant amount of disbelief, but she apparently hadn’t been bluffing. “We take your safety very seriously, Jo-” She cut herself off before he could snap at her again. “We won’t let you kill yourself and we can’t let you go until we are confident you’re not a danger to yourself or others.”

Eating had been the one thing he’d been sure he had control of, even when he had nothing else, but apparently, he didn’t even truly control that. With how they’d set it up he was screwed either way. He either ate and gave into them or held out and ended up being force fed. Neither were desirable, and both were humiliating.

As the days wore on, and it grew clearer and clearer that he was truly helpless, he couldn’t help but start to hate his friends for leaving him there.

When he said nothing, her voice dropped to a quieter, more genial tone. “If we brought your food in here would you eat?”

At that he looked up at her suspiciously. He felt it was the best deal he would get, and he very much did not want to sit with everyone. Most importantly, it was a deal – he wasn’t just giving in to their capricious demands. He nodded once, and she bounced up, earlier cheer returned. “Great! I’ll be back. You can change while I’m getting your tray.”

It hadn’t been a question, but Kavinsky had no desire to spend his day in their flimsy pajamas just to spite them, so he quickly got on his jeans and sweater and sat back down, wishing desperately for his hoodie.   

 

He voiced as much in his mandatory one-on-one with the institute’s psychiatrist later that day. “It’s fucking ridiculous that I can’t have my damn jacket. There are so many ways I could kill myself here, I don’t need to use my fucking hoodie.”

“If there are so many ways to kill yourself here, then why haven’t you?”

Kavinsky scoffed, angered at being called out on his bluff (he currently didn’t have any ideas on how to kill himself – that didn’t mean he wouldn’t soon though). “Whatever. I can just do it when I get out. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

“Whether it’s now or later.” The _dick_ was implied.

“Why does it have to be one or the other?”

Suddenly Kavinsky was unbearably tired, “Whatever. I’m done talking to you.”

He waited a second before continuing as if Kavinsky hadn’t just ended their session. “So, I heard you get a lot of visitors. You must have a lot of people who care about you and want you to get better.”

“What don’t you get about done talking, bitch?”

“Does that upset you? The fact that there are people out there that worry about you?”

The fact that the psychiatrist didn’t react _at all_ to Kavinsky’s comment was infuriating, but he knew he’d get him to snap before long. While he was waiting for something brilliant to come to him regarding an ingenious escape, he had tasked himself with breaking all the staff.

So far, it had been inordinately difficult, especially considering Kavinsky’s level of skill and experience in the art of pissing people off, but that just made it all the worthier a challenge. “You don’t know shit.”

“I have a couple degrees that say different.”

Kavinsky wasn’t sure psychiatrists were allowed to talk like that, which threw him off his game slightly, but he didn’t let it show. “You think you need a damn degree to be a dick? All you do is annoy people to death with your fucking prying questions. Anyone can do that.”

“What makes you say I’ve been a dick? What did I say?”

The fact that he was still trying should have been funny, but it was just aggravating. “You just have that face. You know the one that says, ‘punch me’.”

“Was it because I said you couldn’t have your hoodie?”

Kavinsky looked at him like he was crazy, which was fair considering that _that_ was what he thought made him a dick. “It doesn’t fucking help that you’re keeping my shit from me, no.”

“Why does it mean so much to you?”

“What?” The man was insane.

“What’s so important about the hoodie?”

It was nearly impossible to answer the question because he’d never said the hoodie was important at all. “It’s not the damn hoodie. Your rules are just stupid as shit.” The man just hummed and Kavinsky wanted to ignore it, knew it was a ploy, but it crawled under his skin and made him tense up. “What _the fuck_ does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Fuck that. Tell me.”

“I was just trying to think of why it might be important to you.”

“I told you it’s not!”

“Yes, you did, but it’s also the first thing you ever brought up to me on your own.”

“You’re fucking reaching.”

“Am I? You can’t think of any reason you want it?”

Kavinsky didn’t want to think about it. “No. I don’t even fucking want it anymore. Fucking keep it.”

The psychiatrist sighed. “I’m sorry for pushing, I just thought there might be a way to get you what you want even if it’s not the hoodie.”

“What?”

“If we could get something that was like the jacket, that served the same function, that would be a success, no?”

Maybe mental hospitals really did drive people crazy because Kavinsky was starting to lose his mind at the man’s obsession with his hoodie. “What fucking function?! It’s a fucking hoodie!”

He held out his hands to calm him down. Kavinsky was getting really fucking tired of everyone acting like he was an unstable lunatic when they were just assholes. On the plus side he knew just what to do to piss more people off when he got out.

He barely managed to catch what the doctor was saying over his internal screaming. “Do you like it because it’s warm? Because it’s big? Because it smells nice? Because it reminds you of home?”

Kavinsky had to snort in disgust at the last suggestion.

“What?”

Kavinsky wasn’t going to fall for that bullshit. “I don’t fucking know. I like it because it’s a fucking hoodie. It has a fucking hood.” He pulled at the collar of his sweater emphasizing the obviously missing portion.

“I see.”

Kavinsky groaned loudly and ground his teeth together but remained silent.

“So, you like it because you can hide your face?” Apparently, the question was rhetorical because he didn’t pause for a response. “Is it because other people seeing you makes you feel vulnerable? Is there something that makes you feel unsafe here? Elsewhere?” The whole exchange was spiraling out of control very quickly and, as the doctor continued talking, Kavinsky’s eyes widened, overwhelmed. 

Through ground teeth he spit out his response. “It’s. Just. A. Fucking. Hoodie.”

“It’s fine to want to feel protected, Joseph. It’s absolutely normal and healthy, nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Don’t fucking call me that! No one’s fucking listening to me! It’s just a fucking hoodie and don’t say my motherfucking name! What’s so fucking hard about that?!”

He’d stood to leave but the doctor said, “If you finish our session today – only twenty minutes left – I’ll let the rest of the staff know to use a different name” and motioned for him to sit back down.

Begrudgingly, Kavinsky agreed and sat down, glaring at him all the while.

“What should I call you if not Joseph?”

“Kavinsky.”

“Okay. May I ask why?”

With narrowed eyes Kavinsky replied mockingly. “No, you _may not_.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

Kavinsky didn’t see how him refusing to answer that question was fair when he had to answer the others, but he wasn’t going to push it by asking.

A tight silence covered the room at Kavinsky’s lack of response, and the clock ticked loudly in the quiet, only rejoining the other background noised when Dr. Fredson spoke. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Taking your medication?”

“Yes.”

“Eating?”

Kavinsky continued answering tersely. “Yes.”

“Would you do those things on your own.”

“Yes.”

Dr. Fredson folded his hands together in front of him on the desk and hummed thoughtfully. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Well. Just in case that too was a lie, I’ll tell you.” Kavinsky rolled his eyes at the psychiatrist’s dramatics. “I don’t believe you because according to our staff, they have to fight with you to get you to do a single one of those things.”

Kavinsky shrugged.

“Let me guess. You don’t care?”

“Bingo.”

“Is there anything you do care about?”

“Nope.”

“Not your friends?”

“No.”

“Family?”

“Fuck no.”

“I’m not even going to ask if you care about yourself, because it’s obvious you don’t.”

“Hey –” Kavinsky’s vicious reply was interrupted.

“That makes me wonder though. If you don’t care about anything out there, then why are you so desperate to get out?”

“Anything's better than here.”

“Why? What's so awful about this place?”

Kavinsky made a mocking buzzing noise and stood from his seat. “Time's up, doc. Better luck next time.”

The psychiatrist didn’t stop him from leaving, but he did give Kavinsky a weighty parting look that was hard to decipher. It was only when he got back to his room, however, that Kavinsky really start thinking about the doctor's question. After no more than half an hour of contemplation he realized that, much to his chagrin, Dr. Fredson had been right.

There was nothing out there for him and he shouldn’t be wasting so much time trying to escape.

No, the only logical thing was to find some way to kill himself while at the institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the chaos of this first part, I just couldn’t choose between POVs – I love all the characters too much. If there’s a certain scene you would like another POV on, just hit me up and I’d be more than happy (extremely happy) to write it, I’d just put it in another location. Also, let me know if there’s anything you want to see. I can’t promise it will make it in, but at the very least it could be very helpful inspiration


	8. Ignorance and Bliss

When Ronan got out to the parking lot he was met with the not un-intimidating sight of Kavinsky’s pack of dogs surrounding his car. Proko sat on the hood, probably intentionally scuffing the paint, with Jiang leaning insolently against the car on his left and Skov, texting rapidly, on his right. Most troublesome was Swan, who had not only managed to open Ronan’s car, but had also taken the liberty of sitting himself in the driver’s seat. Upon Ronan’s arrival, Swan pulled himself out using the frame of the car and sneered at Ronan. “Get in.”

He obviously meant for Ronan to get in the passenger seat of his own car, an idea that not only insulted but repulsed Ronan. Purposefully misinterpreting Swan’s command, Ronan walked to where he stood and tried to shove him aside. “Move.”

Swan tisked. “No, no, no. You’re riding shotgun, I’m driving”

“And why the fuck would I let you do that?”

Swan shoved Ronan back, outweighing him just enough to be successful in displacing him a few paces, and said, “I don’t know. Maybe because you feel guilty about the fuck shit you said to K. Or maybe because I have a gun. Up to you.”

Ronan didn’t doubt Swan had a gun, but he wasn’t sure he would use it. Then again, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t use it either. With a growl he moved around the car and climbed in the passenger’s side. Within moments Skov, Proko, and Jiang had disappeared to their respective cars and Swan tore out of the parking lot. He offered no explanation and Ronan refused to ask on principle, so the ride was silent bar the excessively loud rap music Swan had chosen.

It made Ronan wonder whether K liked rap in general or only listened to Bulgarian rap. Swan would’ve known but, again on principle, Ronan refused to ask. Additionally, he didn’t think then was the best time to be contemplating K’s idiosyncrasies. Still, the question sat in the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach, reminding him of what Proko had said earlier.

After fifteen minutes they saw their first sign of civilization since the secluded institute. Swan took a sharp right turn, flinging Ronan against the door in the process, and pulled into a Whataburger parking lot. He got out of the car without comment and, while Ronan was inclined to remain sitting just to be difficult, he knew that, even with the sun recently set, the car would get unbearably hot very quickly.

Just as he shut the door, he heard Swan tell the recently arrived Jiang, Skov, and Proko, “Lynch just generously offered to pay for whatever we want.” He then turned to Ronan and said, “Isn’t that right, Lynch?”

Ronan just rolled his eyes and decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. “Whatever.”

After they all ordered, clearly trying to wrack the bill up as much as possible, the total still only came to sixty dollars. It was pocket change to all of them, but that hadn’t been the point. Ronan did his best to ignore it, swallowing the bitter taste it left behind, and let them lead the way to the empty patio. The food filled up the table and they all started eating immediately, but for Proko, who steepled his hands and said, “Visiting hours are two to six. You can have two to three.”

Ronan's eyebrows rose dangerously at Proko's presumptuousness. “I’ll go whenever the hell I want.”

Proko's eyebrows mimicked Ronan's, unimpressed. “We’re only giving you two to three because none of us can go then and you don’t give a shit about school. Don’t push your fucking luck.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Proko leaned forward dangerously. “Listen, Lynch. I don’t like you. I think you’re bad for K, but the idiot wants you to come see him for some fucked up reason, so I’m willing to give you a chance. But. Don’t. Fucking. Push it.”

Skov spoke up around a mouthful of food. “Besides, they only let two people in at a time, so we have to split it, and no one wants to share with your sorry ass.”

Ronan ground his jaw and clenched his fists in frustration but managed a terse nod.

Jiang took an obnoxiously loud sip of his drink before speaking for the first time in their make-shift meeting. “And if he’s worse after seeing you then you can’t come anymore.”

Ronan was willing to be reasonable and cooperate even after they’d jacked his car and kidnapped him, but that was the third time they'd told him what he could do. “You’re not his fucking parents.”

Jiang was as sharp and quick with his words as he was with his knife. “Yeah but, like you, he doesn’t have any parents.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Skov replied, angrier than before. “No, you know what Lynch? Jiang’s right. This isn’t even about how much we hate you. We’ve been working a long time to keep him alive and you almost fucked it all up. So, yeah, if you’re making it worse, you’re done.”

Swan twisted the blade Skov’s words had been and furthered Ronan’s guilt. “You told him it was his fault his old man raped him. You said he was disgusting. No shit we’re worried you’ll say something stupid and fuck it up even worse.”

Ronan didn’t know how they knew exactly what he’d said, because K certainly wouldn’t have told them, but he supposed it didn’t make a difference in the end. “I didn’t know what he was saying! I wouldn’t have said that if I did!”

Jiang wasn’t having Ronan’s flimsy excuses. “Oh yeah, you think it’s more likely K would rape someone than be raped – he should be ecstatic.”

“I didn’t fucking say that!”

“Still true.”

“Oh, and you assholes were perfect when he told you?”

Proko responded with a vicious snarl, as if Ronan had just insulted his grandmother. “He didn’t tell us.”

Ronan spoke skeptically, only slightly cowed by the fire in Proko’s eyes, “Oh, so you just knew?”

Swan responded in Proko’s stead. “Yeah, because he’s a fucking mess over it. Because we’re actually there when he has his breakdowns. Shit gets pretty fucking obvious pretty fucking quick if you’re around him enough.”

The continuous jibes at the sporadic nature of Ronan’s interactions with K stung, but they weren’t wrong. Maybe if Ronan had been around more he would’ve known better, but he hadn’t and that wasn’t completely his fault; K was often intentionally unbearable.

For some odd reason, though, he didn’t think they’d appreciate his commentary on the matter, so he remained silent. He regretted it as soon as he realized it gave Skov the opportunity to get in another jab. “I have no fucking clue why he chose to tell you of all people.”

Ronan looked down at where his fingers were tugging at the table’s plastic framing and grunted. “I don’t know either.” He tried not to blame K for telling him, but it didn’t come naturally.

Jiang was quick to snap back. “Oh, shut the fuck up, man. You told someone to kill themselves and they tried it and surprise now you feel guilty. You’re fucking pathetic.”

Swan didn’t give Ronan time to respond before speaking up himself. “Yeah, seriously, cut the martyr shit. Proko said you were for real about K, but Proko’s a moron – no offense Pro – and I trust you about as far as Dick III could throw you.”

The guilt was still there, but it was steadily being overwhelmed by Ronan’s growing anger at Kavinsky’s friends. His words came out sans censor. “It’s not my fault K had a pedophile father that fucked him up ten ways to Sunday. He blamed himself before I said jackshit!” As true as it was, Ronan instantly regretted saying it. His eyes widened, shocked by his own words, but he didn’t know what to say to take it back. 

His obvious surprise and contrition did nothing to prevent Swan from taking a swing at him. And another. And another. When he finally stopped Ronan could feel his brain rattling around in his skull. As he tried to regain his bearings he vaguely perceived the others taking off. They spit some parting insults at him, but he couldn’t hear them over the buzzing in his ears – it wasn’t too hard to fill in the blanks though.

It took a couple minutes for the pounding in his head to subside enough to think clearly and only then did he realize Swan had left with his car. Ronan couldn’t really say he didn’t deserve it, but it was infuriating nonetheless, especially because he was left stranded, an hour from Henrietta. After he took a few beats to control his rage he pulled his phone from his pocket.

 

It was unreactive at first and he crossed his fingers as he tried to turn it on, hoping it was off and not dead. Thankfully, it turned on, but he had to wait for all the missed calls and messages to go through before he could do anything.

He didn’t bother checking them (he knew they’d all be from his friends, aggravated and worried about his unplanned disappearance) and without pause called Gansey.  It only rang once before he answered, concern clear as day in his voice. “Ronan? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Can you come get me?”

“Where are you? What happened to your car? Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

Ronan sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Can you get me or not?”

“Yes, of course. Send me your location, I’m on my way.”

Ronan heard the tell-tale sounds of Gansey puttering around Monmouth, getting ready to leave, and felt a slight weight lift off his chest. He barely remembered to say, “thanks,” before hanging up and, as soon as he ended the call, sent Gansey a pin of his location and put his phone away.

The minutes ticked on, and the weight Gansey’s loyalty had relieved him of returned in full and settled deep in his stomach, obviously intending to make its long-term home there, a parasite to Ronan’ ability to breathe and sleep. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been there before – he had plenty of sleepless night to prove just the opposite – but sitting all alone in the dark he had nothing to do but think about the sheer magnitude of his fuck-up.

Kavinsky’s friends had been right, they’d been assholes about it, but they’d been right all the same. Worse than anything they’d said was the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about everything. Not just what he’d done, but what had been done to K. It had occurred to him more than once that he wouldn’t have been in his situation, wouldn’t have been burdened with the knowledge of his complete shittiness, if Kavinsky hadn’t said anything. Each time he had those thoughts though, he only grew angrier at himself.

Now that he knew Kavinsky hadn’t told anyone but him, his feelings just grew more twisted. It was wrong of him to fantasize that Kavinsky had never said anything, that he’d kept it a secret to preserve Ronan’s peace of mind, but it was just another sin he had yet to atone for. The fact that Kavinsky’s admission had apparently been an insanely huge show of trust just made Ronan feel even guiltier for his reaction.

Ronan had done his fair share of dickish things in his life (more than fair if you asked Gansey) and he had enough guilt to satisfy the Catholic church for ages, but his most recent transgression may have been the worst of all and the more he learned the worse it got. He feared that he’d just scratched the surface of it all and that, by regularly visiting K and learning more about what had happened, he’d fall deeper into the grave he’d dug himself.

He wanted to say that that discovering more wouldn’t change how he felt about K, but he wasn’t sure if that was true. It was just very difficult reconciling the boy he’d known with the one he’d been learning about. Part of it was that he couldn’t grasp any of it on even the most rudimentary level.

His father hadn’t been perfect, but he wouldn’t have laid a hand on any of them in a million years, and it was challenging to see how any father could. He wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew that terrible parenting was closer to the norm than not but, try as he might, he couldn’t understand what that would feel like. Ronan’s dad may have been absent more than was right, but he’d still been Ronan’s everything. So, maybe it wasn’t so much that he couldn’t imagine what K must have felt, but more that he didn’t want to. Selfish as it was, he didn’t want to tarnish his dad’s memory by imagining him doing that for even a split second. Even without doing that though, he knew that the level of pain that must’ve come with being hurt by someone so important, must’ve been atrocious.

That left him in a purgatory as he stood on the precipice of acceptance but was tethered back by his stubborn denial. He tried to walk over the edge, but instead of falling he hung, suspended in an empty space. It was an uncomfortable place, one that positioned him on the brink of pity, and he was stuck there with no recourse. He hoped and feared that continuing to visit Kavinsky would shed some light on something, enough to move him from where he’d landed, but he also worried that he might not be able to keep his promise to Proko.

There was no doubt that he had feelings for K – strong feelings at that – and they hadn’t diminished simply because he knew about K’s childhood … but he was starting to wonder if he even knew the real K at all. The Kavinsky who made late night confessions and hated himself because of what his father had done. The boy that had friends who would kill and die for him, who knew everything but pretended to be ignorant for his sake: friends eons better than Ronan had been to him.

He knew the K that drove with wild abandon and partied even harder, seemingly infinite, immortal, but he didn’t know the K that had breakdowns and hurt himself. He didn’t know the K who looked so small and breakable. There wasn’t anything about those things that had dampened his feelings, but now that he knew how much he didn’t know he couldn’t say that nothing would change. He hadn’t come any closer to a solution by the time Gansey arrived.

 

As soon as he saw the dim yellow lights of the fast food joint reflect off the Camaro’s garishly orange paint he got to his feet. When Gansey coasted to a stop, before he even put the vehicle in park, Ronan got in – he didn’t want to give Gansey the opportunity to get out and try to confront him right then and there. The hour-long car ride back was bound to be uncomfortable enough without a parking lot argument preceding it.

As Gansey sighed and started the car without comment, Ronan realized predicting the car ride would be uncomfortable had been optimistic. Ten minutes later Gansey finally sighed again and started talking, well-aware Ronan could and would remain silent the entire ride otherwise. “What’s going on Ronan?” Ronan didn’t immediately respond but, if the way he kept talking meant anything, Gansey didn’t mind. “You’ve been off for weeks now, I feel like I barely see you anymore and we live together. And now you end up stranded an hour out of town and won’t explain what happened to your car or what you were doing out here in the first place.” Ronan didn’t respond to that either, but this time Gansey wasn’t satisfied with his silence. “I’m just worried about you.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel before looking over at Ronan. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

It was Ronan’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

When Ronan’s silence grew pointedly long, and Gansey realized that was all he planned on saying, he narrowed his eyes and ground his jaw. “Is that all you have to say?”

Ronan glanced over at him slightly confused. “Uh, yeah. What else?”

“I don’t know maybe thank you or I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry.” It was obvious Ronan didn’t mean it even though it wasn’t quite a lie.

Gansey took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel much more tightly than necessary. “We spent our whole night worrying about you, wondering if you were dead somewhere, and that’s all you say?”

“What do you want me to say Gansey? I didn’t know you’d freak out so much, it was just a few hours.”

Gansey quickly pulled over into the where the road banked before the start of the thick woods. He took multiple angry breaths before cutting the engine. “We had plans, Ronan. What the hell was I supposed to think when you didn’t show up and wouldn’t respond to any of our calls or messages?”

Ronan winced, suddenly remembering that he had in fact agreed to meet and talk about planning something or another. He pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve some of the tension gathering in his neck and shoulders. “Shit. I forgot.”

The sigh Gansey let out was depressing. “I figured.”

After a few beats Ronan said, “I really am sorry.”

“Okay.”’

“I am.”

“Don’t suppose that means you’ll tell me why you were all the way out in the middle of nowhere?”’’

“I can’t.” When Gansey just looked out the window in disappointment Ronan felt he had to defend himself. “It’s not my secret to share.”

Gansey said, “Okay, Ronan, okay.” and started the car.

They drove the rest of the way back in silence, and Ronan got the distinct feeling that nothing was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be up within a week or two and be from K's pov


	9. Jump Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally I emerge from my cave and post. I'm sorry it took so long, but hopefully I'll post more often (as I say every single time and subsequently fail every time). Basically, I'm sorry and thanks for being patient.

Gansey maintained his passive aggressiveness with Ronan for more than a week before breaking. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the usual sort of, apologetic, ‘let’s make things right’, conclusion  Ronan had come to expect from Gansey's snits. 

It was a Saturday and Gansey told him they were going to the lake. Ronan had protested at first, knowing he’d have to leave by one if he wanted to get to Willow Acres in time to see Kavinsky, but eventually, Gansey and Adam wore him down.

They promised it would only be a morning thing and Ronan figured he owed them at least that much, especially considering how many times he’d bailed on them to visit Kavinsky. The demands didn’t end there though.

Not only was Ronan being dragged on a lake trip, but he couldn’t even find comfort in his car. Gansey had been oddly persistent about driving them all there, said it was “part of the experience”. Ronan didn’t buy it for a second, but he gave in, knowing that arguing would just eat up more time and end them up in the same place.

That meant that, at nine AM, a reluctant Ronan and a quiet Adam piled into Gansey’s car and began the short journey to the secluded area of the lake they’d found on one of their excursions and subsequently claimed as their own.

Gansey hadn’t lied about the lake. They got there, got on the boat, and trailed out a little bit from the dock. It was peaceful if a little humid, but the October weather was cool enough to make it tolerable. Instead of swimming or talking or doing anything fun though, Gansey told him to sit down and sighed heavily, Adam sitting next to him and across from Ronan.

Before either of them could speak, Ronan joked dryly. “What is this? An intervention?” When they didn’t seem to find any humor in Ronan’s words, he realized he’d hit the nail on the head. His tone turned threatening in the span of two seconds. “Are you kidding me?”

“Ronan –”

He cut Gansey off, “Don’t start, Gansey. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

Gansey shook his head. “It’s important.” He knew Ronan too well to give him a chance to reply. “We know Kavinsky’s in a mental hospital and that you’ve been visiting him.”

Ronan had suspected they’d figure it out after he had Gansey come pick him up. There wasn’t much out in that part of town and Kavinsky hadn’t been to school in multiple weeks. “So?”

Gansey rubbed his palm as he spoke tentatively, wary of starting a fight. “So, I don’t think that it’s such a good idea.”

The fire in Ronan’s eyes implied a fight was inevitable anyway. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Dick.”

“I’m just worried about you.”

Ronan knew it was childish, but he couldn’t help his response. “Worry about yourself for once.” Adam just sat next to Gansey silently taking in the scene and judging Ronan.

It pissed him off to no ends.

“You should mind your own damn business.” It was directed at both of them, but Ronan was glaring at Adam.

“And you shouldn’t be so stupid.”

Ronan stood up. “Take me back.”

Gansey protested. “Just hear me out and then I will.”

Ronan spoke tensely, in warning. “You’re about to cross a line, Gansey.”

“Just listen. Please?”

After closing his eyes and doing his breathing Ronan acquiesced. “You have two minutes.”

“Kavinsky’s a bad person. He’s dangerous. It’s noble that you want to help him while he’s in the hospital, but he’s not worth it. He can’t be saved and he’s just going to bring you down with him.”

Ronan’s jaw was clenched so tight he worried he’d break a tooth. “You done?” Before Gansey could say anything, Ronan continued. “Because I am.” It just wasn’t worth arguing.

Ronan could have told them that Kavinsky wasn’t all bad, that he was just hurting. He could have explained that he related to Kavinsky. That he felt something dangerous and freeing when he saw him. But none of it would have changed anything. Gansey and Adam would believe what they wanted to, and he’d already done enough damage to Kavinsky. He didn’t need to go around baring his secrets to the world.

Adam and Gansey both started speaking at once, trying to defend and explain their positions, but Ronan wanted no part of it. They didn’t know Kavinsky well enough to judge him. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so opposed to hearing their thoughts before, but he’d learned the hard way that even he hadn’t known enough to accurately judge Kavinsky, and they knew nothing in comparison. “If you don’t take me back right now, I’m swimming.”

“Ronan-”

Ronan started to take off his shoes, genuinely ready to jump ship, but Gansey sighed in defeat. “Fine. We’ll go back.”

They rode back in rigid silence. Gansey and Adam: worried they’d say something to cause Ronan to dive overboard. Ronan, waiting for them to give him a reason. 

As soon as they approached the dock, Ronan jumped to land and stormed off before Gansey could tie up the boat. He grabbed his phone out of where he’d stashed it in the Pig and dialed Skov.

He had been annoyed when Kavinsky’s friends had demanded his number, but now he was grateful for their bull-headedness. It rang and rang on and Ronan was about to give up and try someone else when Skov picked up, obviously high. “Sup?”

“Pick me up.” At the silence Ronan grit his teeth and said, “Can you pick me up?”

“What’s the magic word?”

Ronan desperately wanted to hang up, but then he turned and saw Adam and Gansey approaching, obviously not finished with their earlier conversation. “Please, asshole.”

Skov hummed. “Close enough. Where’s here?”

“The dock off Oak street.”

“Why’re you-”

Ronan found immense satisfaction in finally ending the call.

 

After fifteen minutes of Ronan skillfully avoiding conversation with Gansey and Adam, Skov pulled up in his unfortunately undeniably sexy car and rolled down the window. It didn’t help much as Ronan couldn’t see him through the clouds of smoke billowing out, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. He didn’t need to see Skov to know he wasn’t going to get out.

That was fine by Ronan, as he had no problem with leaving immediately; and he got in the passenger seat as quickly as possible, without so much as a goodbye to his friends. As soon as the door shut Skov spun the car around, causing the tires to squeal in protest, and started back in the direction he’d come from.

It was a mystery how Skov managed to navigate through the haze of smoke as Ronan couldn’t see out any of the windows, but he’d arrived at the lake in one piece. Even so, it was slightly concerning. Ronan was nowhere near uptight about road safety, but even he had to pause when Skov started to mess with the radio while merging onto the freeway virtually blind.

They hadn’t spoken a single word to one another in the few minutes they’d been in the car and, when Skov took his hands off the wheel to rummage around in the back seat, Ronan doubted they’d get the chance.

“Skov.”

He was still distractedly reaching towards the floor of the backseat. “What?”

“Pay attention to the fucking road.”

Ronan couldn’t see it clearly, but he knew Skov was rolling his eyes when he said, “Calm down, priss.”

“I’m not planning on dying before we get there.”

“So, after we get there’s open for you?” He used his knees to swerve, narrowly avoiding a car merging into his lane.

“I’m fucking serious, Skov.”

Skov sighed dramatically but managed to grab his phone and put his hands back on the wheel in short order. “Happy?”

Ronan’s voice was drier than fossilized bone. “Ecstatic.”

There was a hint of bite in Skov’s tone. “I wouldn’t have killed us, you damn drama queen.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, but otherwise elected not to respond.

“I learned to drive in LA, dude. This isn’t shit.”

Skov being from California explained so much that Ronan couldn’t believe he hadn’t put it together sooner. The blue-tipped hair with the undercut. His inability to go more than two minutes without saying ‘dude’. The unique brand of disinterested he always looked: it wasn’t Jiang’s cool removal or Ronan’s violent air of not giving a fuck, it was more like his face had gotten stuck looking like he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his phone.

Ronan didn’t say any of that, though. He wasn’t there to bond.

That silence seemed to only serve to remind Skov of the oddness of the situation.

He snorted and said, “K’s gonna eat this shit up.”

“We’re not telling him.”

Skov gave him a side-eye that somehow managed to make Ronan feel stupid. “Um, maybe you aren’t, but I sure as hell am. It’s funny as fuck, dude. Even you have to admit that.”

Ronan’s friends kidnapping him and staging an intervention to interrogate him about (and subsequently keep him from going to see) Kavinsky was nowhere near funny. “You’re not saying shit to him.”

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want.”

“Not if you like your face like it is.”

Skov was unfazed. “Oh, so now that Kavinsky’s gone you need another punching bag?” Before Ronan could retort, Skov continued. “He’s still got some bruises from you and now you want to beat up his friend? You have issues, bro.”

Ronan spoke sharply, unable to not defend himself, even with what feeble defense he had. “It was a mistake.”

“Said like a true abuser.”

Ronan clenched his jaw, pained at the truth of the words, but didn’t respond.

After an awkward silence, Skov let out a little sigh and said, “I’m just fucking with you, dude.” He made a considering sound and tilted his head before amending his statement. “Sort of.”

Ronan huffed. “Whatever.” He figured what Skov had said was fair, so he tried to let it go. Thankfully, Skov’s music gave him ample reason to switch subjects. “What the fuck is this?”

The eyebrow raise Skov gave was only partially serious. “Music.”

“No shit.”

“It’s from a musical.”

Ronan could help but sound incredulous. “You listen to musicals?”

Skov parroted Ronan. “No shit.”

Another fair comment from Skov.

Then his music changed to something completely different. “Musicals and Lady Gaga?”

“You knew the song.”

“Everyone does. Not everyone has your weird-ass playlist.”

“It’s my mixing list.”

“What?”

“My mixing playlist.” When that didn’t make it any clearer Skov elaborated. “I listen to everything so I have shit to mix when making playlists.”

“You can use musicals?”

“You’d be surprised, I use all sorts of shit.”

Ronan didn’t respond, and the silence grew, but it wasn’t as suffocating as before.

He broke the silence again when a song came on that Ronan hadn’t heard before. It sounded indie and the recording device must’ve been unsophisticated, but he didn’t hate it like most of Skov’s other sampling sources. “This isn’t too awful.” He painfully attempted to make an effort at civil conversation by continuing. "What's it from?" He only noticed Skov had been reaching to change the song after he’d already asked.

Skov's hand froze midway to the radio and slowly retreated, leaving the song playing. For a few beats he didn’t say anything and Ronan saw the usually relaxed boy’s hands turn white with how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. He eventually relaxed and took a deep breath before responding. “My brother.”

It was clear the topic was a sore subject, but the question just came out. “You have a brother?”

“I had a twin. Fraternal.”

Ronan wanted to ask but he managed to restrain himself.

Skov answered his unasked question anyway. “He was going to be a singer, but he died two years ago.” Ronan remained silent, but Skov kept talking. Apparently, he had a lot to get off his chest. “Killed himself.”

There was an instinctual urge to say sorry, express sympathy, that came with the uncomfortable feeling one got when exposed to heavy material they weren’t prepared to handle. Ronan fought it, knowing it never helped. He said the only thing he could think of. “And now Kavinsky.”

Skov corrected him. “And now you.”

“What?”

The sigh Skov let out was filled to the brim with exhaustion. “I’m pissed at you, but not like everyone else is – you know.” Ronan did not know, but Skov’s question was rhetorical. “I’m pissed at you like I’m pissed at myself. I’m pissed at you because you get a second chance and I don’t. It’s not fucking fair.”

“Nothing’s ever fair.”

Skov didn't protest. Instead, he spent a few moments tapping on the steering wheel before looking at Ronan. “You’re not going to ask?”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Touché.” He ran a hand through his hair, gently tugging at the blue strands, before rolling his head and cracking his neck. After another minute of loaded quiet, Skov continued. “He came out to me and I didn’t react well.” He fell silent, lost in thought before shaking himself out of his introspection. “My family was Mormon. Is Mormon. I’m the only one who ditched it after what happened.”

Ronan could tell Skov wanted him to ask. “What happened?”

“I was the first person my brother told, and I called him a fag. Said he was disgusting. That I didn’t want to be his brother anymore.” Skov laughed sardonically. “I was such a fucking idiot.”

Ronan didn’t say anything. He was pretty sure Skov knew he was gay – especially after the talk they’d all had about his unique relationship with Kavinsky – but he didn’t want to give it away if they didn’t. Skov’s knowing glance told him that it was a wasted effort.

“He’d been dealing with shit before he told me – I think the secretness of it all was eating him alive – and it only got worse once I abandoned him. Two months later I found him hanging in his room.” Skov sneered in disgust at himself. “There wasn’t a note or shit, but I knew.” He bit his lip viciously. “My parents asked if I knew why, but I said I had no clue. They wouldn’t have accepted him, even in death, and I didn’t want to tarnish his memory.” The music played on, never matching the mood. “I hated them for it. Still do.”

Time ticked on before Ronan responded solemnly. “I would too.”

Skov sighed deeply, but it was more relieved than earlier. “I never told K that.”

“Didn’t want him to get any ideas?”

Skov snorted at Ronan’s macabre humor but answered seriously. “I mean, he already thinks being gay is reason enough to kill himself, but I don’t need him twisting my bullshit and thinking that I still think like that.”

Ronan scrutinized him mercilessly. “You don’t?”

“No.” Skov had snapped his answer but seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Like I said, I was a fucking idiot.” He ran his hands around the wheel, focusing on the smooth feeling of the leather as he continued. “If there was one thing I could take back, it would be that. I mean, church and my parents had always said it was a sin, but I should’ve known better. He was my brother for fucks sake.”

Ronan sensed usually happy Skov was on the edge and he felt bad for him. Against his better judgement, he was starting to like the guy (he supposed an hour-long drive did that to a person) and, beyond the stuff about K, they’d never had issues. Besides, if he was going to be seeing more of Kavinsky he’d have to get along with his friends.

He figured trying to make Skov feel less like shit was a good start. “I don’t know. Kavinsky’s gay and he still doesn’t ‘know better’.”

The corner of Skov’s lip lifted up slightly. “How do you know he’s gay?”

Ronan rolled his eyes at the joke, but humor tinted his voice. “Fuck off.”

Skov grew serious once more, taking advantage of the odd sharing mood they’d cultivated. “Can I say something without you getting pissy?”

“Probably not.”

“Will you at least try?”

Ronan shrugged and let out a long, “sure.”

“Do you have a plan?”

Ronan’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“About Kavinsky?” When Ronan remained silent, Skov switched approaches, speaking tentatively. “Okay. You like Kavinsky, right? Like, like like?”

Ronan looked at him incredulously. “Did you just ask me if I like like Kavinsky?

Skov wasn’t ashamed. “Well. Do you?”

Ronan snapped at his bracelets and steadfastly looked out his window. “I don’t know.” Skov gave him time to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know this Kavinsky.”

“Yeah, okay, and?”

“I think I do but …”

Skov filled in the blanks. “You don’t know if you can handle sober K?”

Ronan nodded and Skov said, “Well, shit. I don’t know if any of us can. That’s sort of why he’s locked up in the loony bin.” He turned to look at Ronan seriously and said, “But, for real, I think you gotta be sure pretty soon or you’re gonna fuck him up even worse.”

Ronan put his hands behind his neck and gritted his teeth in anger at himself. “I know.”

“Take it easy, man. We don’t need another person in the hospital.” Ronan didn’t laugh, so Skov sighed and tried again. “Really, though. I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure you like him.” Ronan gave Skov a look but Skov continued. “You ditched your friends to see him. And I’m not blind, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Ronan tensed, but there was no way he could deny the fact that he was attracted to Kavinsky. He’d been avoiding thinking of it since what had happened, but now that he was faced with it, he felt dirty. He didn’t want to be another person to take advantage of K.  

Skov seemed to sense where Ronan’s thoughts had gone, but he didn’t shy away from it. “If you decide you like him, you’re gonna need a plan.”

Ronan knew exactly what he meant. It wouldn’t be easy to navigate the minefield that was Kavinsky, but he wasn’t ready yet. “Not yet.”

Skov had been right though.

It wouldn’t hurt to consider what the future could hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing my best to post as frequently as I can but life is a mess - just stick with me and I'll always post eventually. As always, let me know if there's anything you want to see (even if it's a completely different fic request or something barely related). Thanks for reading!


	10. What's in a Lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into it. Let's go!

When they arrived at Willow Acres Skov had gotten out of the car with Ronan, stating definitively that he wasn't going to spend an hour waiting outside because Ronan's friends “were on a holier-than-though kick”.

Ronan had tried to argue the matter but had given up when he was unkindly reminded that Skov was his only ride back. They walked in together and waited in line in comfortable silence, no longer the strangers they were before the car ride.

When they completed all the rigmarole, they were allowed to leave the sterile lobby and head outside. After trekking through the well-maintained grounds, they ended up on the doorstep of the humbly gorgeous mansion and, within moments of ringing the doorbell, were met with one of the regular nurses.  

With a look of delighted surprise on her soft face the stout Indian lady reached out and grabbed Skov in for a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Well hi, sweetie!”

Skov responded, equally enthused and shocked. “Rhonda! I thought you had the weekends off?”

“They needed some extra hands this weekend and, frankly dear, I'm the only one who can handle your boy.”

Ronan had only seen her interact with K a few times before but, he could attest that she handled all his vitriol impressively. The other nurses were all very nice, but that was probably the problem.

K hated nice.

As Ronan thought of that and more, he stood awkwardly to the side and let Skov and his apparent friend continue their chatting. Even though he’d seen the nurse around many _many_ times he knew next to nothing about her. He hadn’t even known her name, let alone all the little details Skov seemed to know about her personal life.

Ronan couldn’t decide whether that was something he should feel guilty about, but he had been leaning towards ‘no’ until the woman addressed him. Apparently, she’d managed to learn his name.

“I'm sorry Ronan, I can be rude as the devil sometimes. I’m glad you’re here too.” She looked like she was dying to say something more, but she cut herself off with a shake of her head and hastened them on. “Gab, gab, gab. Sorry boys, I’m sure you want to see your friend, not talk to some old coot.”

Skov protested but she waved him off in good humor and led the way into the house. Once they’d navigated the maze of halls that was the entrance and living room they came to a closed door and stopped, which was odd to say the very least. Kavinsky always met them out in the sunny reading room.

Rhonda turned, hand on the door knob, and explained, “He's on restriction today. You can see him but he's on one-on-one, which means staff have to check in on him once every minute.”

Skov interpreted, “So they just stay with him wherever he goes?”

“Pretty much.”

“Why's he on restriction?”

“You'll have to ask him that yourself.”

Ronan finally spoke up, tired of wasting time. “Okay.”

Rhonda complied with his unspoken request and opened the door. As she ushered them in, she spoke to the nurse sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. “I'll switch shifts with you after lunch, Sheila.” Sheila nodded and Rhonda turned to look at where Kavinsky sat, folded in on himself on the bed. “And I'll be back for you in 30, mister.”

She waited but got no reaction. He didn’t roll his eyes like he usually did. He didn’t even look up. Unsurprised, but no more pleased for expecting it, Rhonda exchanged concerned glances with Ronan and Skov before leaving quietly.

Skov was the first to speak, sitting down on the foot of the bed as he said, “What'd you do to piss them off now?”

Kavinsky looked up in shock and rapidly glanced between Ronan and Skov, clearly confused as to why they were both there.

Skov, charitable as ever, explained without being asked. “Ronan's friends kidnapped him, so I picked him up.”

Ronan rolled his eyes but let it go. “Skov drives like an asshole.”

“We got here in time, didn’t we?”

Ronan muttered to himself, “never said we didn’t”, before glancing over to the nurse watching K. She was reading a magazine – or very successfully pretending to – and didn’t look up at them once. Apparently, she was only tasked with making sure Kavinsky didn’t do something completely insane. Still, it was Kavinsky. Ronan wished her luck.

Eventually, Ronan turned away from analyzing ‘Sheila’ and looked Kavinsky in the eyes. “Why are you on restriction?”

The energy that had enveloped Kavinsky at the shock of seeing Ronan and Skov together quickly dissipated. He tried to play off his obvious exhaustion with forced blasé but failed miserably. “I re-appropriated some of their pills.”

Skov quickly picked up what Kavinsky wasn’t saying and didn’t let him leave it at that. “You tried to kill yourself again? Why? I thought you were doing better.”

Kavinsky snapped at Skov’s concern. “Like I’ve been telling you assholes all along – there’s no _getting better_ ’.”

Venom was practically dripping from Kavinsky’s words, but Skov just calmly pulled some candy out of his coat pocket and started eating it, completely unfazed by his dramatics. “Bull. Shit.”

At Skov’s response, Kavinsky looked to Ronan and demanded support, “Tell him.”

Ronan shook his head. “He’s my ride back.” It was only partially a joke.

Ronan saw Kavinsky get even more sulky at Ronan’s refusal to agree with him, but Skov, a pro at navigating a prickly K, ignored Kavinsky’s mood entirely and spoke with humor. “So, tell me. What really happened? How’d you get caught?”

The emphasis on the ‘you’ was subtle, but it was clear Skov’s question was genuine. Kavinsky’s skills as a thief were legendary, after all.

The nurse’s eyes remained glued to her pages and, though Ronan examined her closely, she showed no sign of caring about their conversation.

Kavinsky either noticed as much or didn’t care, as he pursed his lips and allowed for the deflection. “There must be a fucking snitch. They came in my room looking for the pills. They already knew I had them.”

Ronan was surprised Kavinsky hadn’t been more thorough, and his thoughts must have shown on his face, as Kavinsky quickly parried away his unasked question.

“Of fucking course, I checked. There was no one. No cameras either. I’m not a goddamn idiot. Some bitch must’ve seen me leave dinner early or some shit.”

Skov dumped the rest of the M&Ms in his mouth and crumpled up the bag, stuffing the trash in his pocket. “Well, I never thought the day would come when I’d be grateful for a narc.”

Kavinsky narrowed his eyes to match the causticness of his tone. “Ha ha ha. You’re so fucking funny.”

Skov stared Kavinsky in the eyes and didn’t flinch. “I’m not laughing, K. I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

Kavinsky clenched his jaw but looked down and started fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt, clearly wishing he had his sunglasses to hide behind. It was obvious the words had meant a lot to him, even if he didn’t know how to handle them, but Ronan was too busy thinking about Skov to look at it too closely.

Watching Skov sit there, casual as ever, and talk to K like that, was even more significant now that Ronan knew about Skov’s past. None of what was happening with K was easy – they were all suffering in their own ways – but, considering how sensitive the issue must have been for Skov, the level of chill he exuded was truly astounding.

Ronan hadn’t planned on liking Kavinsky’s friends, (he hadn’t even been sure about Kavinsky himself) but here he was. Just seeing the lengths they went to, all to make Kavinsky feel better, told Ronan a lot about, not just them, but also Kavinsky.

He had no trouble forming his own opinions. He didn’t like K any more or less because he had friends who thought he was worth the effort, but it did make things easier.

Before everything, Ronan had constantly heard nothing but bad things about Kavinsky. From his friends, from his brothers, from damn near everyone. Most of their complaints had been valid, but it was nice not having to constantly defend himself every time he mentioned or thought of Kavinsky. It was relieving to know he wasn’t alone in seeing something worth saving in K.

At the prolonged silence Kavinsky looked up and grew suspicious, calculating. His eyes scanned Ronan’s face and Ronan could virtually see the connections, the leaps, his brain was making. It was just one more reason that, the more Ronan saw of sober-Kavinsky, the more intimidated and intrigued he grew. Maybe it was Ronan’s paranoia over that idea, but it seemed that, within moments, Kavinsky had determined Skov had said something to him in the car ride.

“What do you know?”

 Ronan didn’t respond beyond a judgmental glare. It was idiotic of Kaivnsky to assume he’d answer.

It was, likewise, idiotic of Ronan to think Kavinsky wouldn’t press the issue. “What did Skov tell you?”

Ronan knew better than to open his mouth. Anything he said would just give Kavinsky more to go off.

“I know Skov told you something. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

When Ronan remained steadfastly silent Skov stood up and looked awkwardly between them. “I’m gonna dip. Swan’s here and he’s wondering what’s up, but I’ll be back in with him.” Skov held his fist out for a fist-bump but Kavinsky just glared at him until he left.

Kavinsky asked one last time. “What did Skov say?”

Ronan wasn’t going to share Skov’s personal life, but he also wasn’t going to be made a liar. “It’s not my shit to share.”

Kavinsky huffed despondently, clearly hurt. His lips curled and he muttered under his breath, “rich.”

Ronan’s first reaction was to get pissed, but the ever-present guilt he felt around Kavinsky acted as a bucket of water on a growing flame.

He may not have shared K’s secrets with anyone, but he certainty hadn’t protected them as he was Skov’s. Still, he was stuck in a no-win situation.

He glanced over to the nurse in the corner, surprised she still wasn’t interested in their drama, and sighed as he sat down at the foot of K’s bed. “K, what do you want me to do?” Ronan knew it wasn’t a fair question to Kavinsky, who’d either have to admit he didn’t care that it was Skov's choice to not tell him or let it go entirely, but he asked it anyway.

He’d expected Kainsky to catch on to the subtle manipulation and anticipated a vicious response, but Kavinsky still managed to catch him off guard with the viciousness of his reply. It was so caustic that, even as the heat of the words struck home, Ronan had to admit he was impressed. “Why don’t you tell me one of your secrets then, Lynch.”

The words were not just a reminder of all Ronan had done and everything that had followed from that, they were also a recognition of the remaining imbalance.

Ronan had repented and Kavinsky had ‘forgiven’ him, but that didn’t mean shit when nothing had changed. The knowledge Kavinsky had given him on that fortuitous night gave Ronan a vast power over him, a power that had gone unacknowledged until then, and he was finally calling Ronan out for it.

It was that, the new understanding of how the equilibrium could be nudged back towards where it had been, that pushed Ronan to accept the challenge. He knew Kavinsky hadn’t meant it, he’d just wanted to hurt Ronan, but Ronan wasn’t going to give up the chance it provided him. He still had a long way to go in his path to forgiveness and he wasn’t giving up anytime soon.

Trying to dredge up a secret, however, proved more difficult than expected. Normally there’d be no question as to what that secret was, but Kavinsky was already aware of his ability to dream, so that didn’t count.

Finally, after some more introspection he realized that he did have another secret, one that he’d never shared with anyone. It wouldn’t make them even, not by a long-shot, but it was all he could offer that wasn’t pitiful in comparison to Kavinsky’s earlier admission.

Still, it was difficult to imagine confessing, especially with an audience, even as unengaged as the nurse was. He knew he didn’t have to say anything, knew no one was forcing his hand, but he felt the pressure.

Pressure from Kavinsky’s previous openness and current vulnerability.

Pressure from Skov’s ability to share without trepidation.

Pressure from all the lies he’d managed to keep without technically lying.

Pressure from the guilt that still made it hard to sleep.

Pressure from the gulf growing between him and his closest friends.

Pressure.

Choking, suffocating, bruising pressure.   

He hadn’t said it to another living soul before and it had been slowly drowning him. It left an iron taste in his mouth, the blood from biting his tongue for so long. Just an hour ago he’d been on the brink of telling Skov. It seemed that, even as he barely managed to say it in his head, the truth was crawling up his spine and pressing on his teeth, no longer content to remain hidden.

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, blurring out the ambient noise of the room, and he took a couple deep breaths. After gathering all his courage, he stared Kavinsky dead in the eyes and said, “I’m gay.” It was the first time Ronan had ever said the words and it felt overwhelming. Like jumping off a cliff’s edge into a lake without checking for rocks. Freeing yet all consuming.

Kavinsky took a while to respond and when he did it wasn’t what Ronan had expected. “What does your god think about that?”

Though it was said viciously, Ronan answered genuinely – it could’ve been much worse. “I haven’t found out yet.”

There was a surprising amount of directed focus on Kavinsky’s face, like he was trying to dissect the problem that was Ronan’s relationship with his faith and sexuality. Why it mattered so much to him, Ronan didn’t dare hope. “If you don’t know, why take the risk? That’s just fucking stupid.”

Ronan couldn’t help but snort. “You? Warning me not to take risks? Rich.” He didn’t want to let go of the seriousness of their conversation though, so he quickly supplied a more real answer. “And it doesn’t really matter if it’s stupid or not, it’s not like it was my damn choice anyway.”

Kavinsky’s eyes narrowed as he huffed. “‘Not a choice?’” He shook his head. “Nah, you’re just not trying hard enough.”

Ronan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Pretending to be straight wouldn’t make me straight. If I’d go to Hell for being gay, then I’m going to Hell whether I admit it or not.”

Kavinsky wouldn’t let it go. “You don’t know that.” Then with a raised eyebrow he confronted Ronan judgmentally. “Maybe you should be in here with me. Bet they could fix you.”

Ronan snapped back, “There’s nothing to fix.” He couldn’t help getting defensive, even as he knew Kavinsky wasn’t really talking about him. “Don’t be a damn ass, there’s nothing fucking wrong with being gay.”

“Yeah there is.”

Ronan clenched his teeth and bite viciously at his bracelets. He spoke curtly, “What?”

“It’s unnatural and disgusting.”

Ronan had thought the same thing at one point, so he couldn’t really be mad at Kavinsky’s reasoning. “So what? People think I’m trash anyway, and I pull shit out of my damn head. Not what I’d call ‘natural’.”

“If you’re so fucking sure then why haven’t you told anyone? Why aren’t you out and proud.” Kavinsky said it like a slur.

Ronan tried not to be offended and continued reminding himself that K’s words were only reflective of his own issues. Blue would’ve been proud of his restraint. “Haven’t had a reason to.”

He chewed on his bracelets as he waited for Kavinsky’s reply.

“I thought you didn’t lie.”

“No one asked.” Ronan expected Kavinsky to call him out, say something about ‘lying by omission’, but he apparently lived to surprise.

“Is it Dick?”

“What?”

“Was I right about you and Dick III?”

Ronan threw his head back and stifled an aggravated groan. He bought himself some time to reign in his anger by stretching his arms and folding them behind his head before responding. “No. There’s no one.”

“No one.”

Ronan’s heart caught, like a page stuck to another, but he managed to find a truth to tell. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“But there is someone?”

Ronan’s eyes flicked to the nurse. He felt like she was listening by the tension in her shoulders, but it could’ve just been his nerves. “Why do you care so much?”

It was Kavinsky’s turn to avoid eye contact, but he responded quickly. “I don’t.”

Ronan tilted his head down to get a better look at Kavinsky. Skov and the others had dropped hints – very unsubtle hints – that Kavinsky was into him, but that didn’t mean shit on its own, especially when things never went Ronan’s way.

He couldn’t determine anything from Kavinsky’s face and, thankfully, the nurse from earlier, Rhonda, came in and interrupted their conversation before Ronan could say something truly stupid.

Rhonda replaced her colleague with little fanfare, but as soon as the door closed behind her, it became obvious she was nothing like Sheila.

Within a few minutes, she’d made herself comfortable, but she didn’t pull anything out to entertain herself. It didn’t take Ronan long to realize that she was dead-set on making conversation.

“Hey, Kavinsky. How’s your day been?”

Even more surprising than Rhonda’s sly grin was Kavinsky mild glare and retort. “Fucking fantastic. Best day of my entire goddamn life.”

“Maybe we should keep it up then, have someone with you all the time.”

Kavinsky scoffed. “You can’t fucking threaten me with that when you haven’t even told me how long I’m in _time-out_ for to start with.”

“I told you, you just didn’t want to listen.” She rose an eyebrow pointedly before continuing. “Like I said before, it’s just until we know you’re not going to rob the place blind.”

“There’s nothing else to do around here, what do you expect me to do?”

“We _expect_ you to focus on getting better.”

Kavinsky gave her an unimpressed look. “Has anyone ever told you, you should lower your expectations?”

“I’m optimistic. Sue me.”

Ronan didn’t feel like stepping in the middle of their conversation, just as content to sit back and observe as they were to let him. 

Kavinksy rolled his eyes. “If you’re so damn optimistic, why’re you watching me?”

“I’m hopeful, not dumb.”

“You’re dumb if you think any of this shit will work.”

Rhonda just kept up the banter, not at all offended by K’s comment. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Kavinsky looked at her with a touch of anger, but also a modicum of respect. Ronan was gathering that she was one of the few people could keep up with a non-drugged-up K. “So forever then. I’ll never be able to piss in peace again?”

She laughed. “As soon as we think you understand, we’ll give you more space.”

“Well then, consider me educated. Turns out all I needed was a babysitter.”

Ronan interjected with a shark like grin, hands splayed out in a what-can-you-do gesture, “ _Well._ ”

Kavinsky whipped his head around to glare at him but it was angled so he was looking up at Ronan and, not that Ronan knew anyone stupid enough to say it aloud but, he looked more sassy than intimidating. “You’re one to talk.”

Ronan sighed. It always came back to Gansey.

Luckily, Rhonda interrupted and said, “As far as I’m aware that boy didn’t steal enough pills from a hospital to start a pharmacy.”

Ronan hadn’t asked how many pills Kavinsky had stolen. Maybe he should have.

Kavinsky was quick to rebut Rhonda’s point. “Not my fault he’s got no entrepreneurial spirit.”

A small smile peaked out from under Rhonda’s faux-serious expression. “So that’s what you call that?” When Kavinsky nodded Rhonda allowed herself to smirk in full. “And just how did you plan to sell drugs to people who a) don’t want them and b) can get them for free?”

Ronan was starting to see why Kavinsky, who’d been determined to like no one, liked Rhonda.

“Easy. Tell them it’s Oxy or E or magical unicorn shit. Whatever they want to hear.”

Ronan’s eyebrows rose as he tilted his head in acknowledgement. He had to admit he was reluctantly impressed. There was a reason Kavinsky had done so well in Henrietta’s underground market and it wasn’t just because he could procure the impossible; he was a thief, but first and foremost he was a slick talker.

Ronan had once heard someone say Kavinsky had a silver tongue and Ronan couldn’t disagree. Knives were also silver.

Their conversation continued, never straying back into the murky waters from earlier, and Ronan was in no rush to leave. He’d found that he genuinely enjoyed the visits, looked forward to spending the time with Kavinsky, a thought that both frightened and filled him with adrenaline.

So, when Swan and Skov walked in he was disappointed but, because he didn’t want to start any drama, he sighed and reluctantly stood up. As Kavinsky looked at him with guarded eyes he said, “See you tomorrow”, and, with a parting nod to Rhonda and Kavinsky’s friends, walked out of the institute.

He still had to wait for Skov, but he didn’t mind sitting on his car and enjoying the breeze for a bit. The only problem was that it left him alone with his thoughts which, as always, returned to Kavinsky.

In the car ride up he’d told Skov he would need time to come to a conclusion about his feelings for K. He he’d been telling the truth then, but he knew now that he wouldn’t be able to repeat it without making himself a liar. Whether he wanted to or not, he liked K.

A lot.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are beyond appreciated - they give me hella inspiration and motivation - and ideas, prompts (related to this fic or completely random), are more than welcome! Enjoy and sorry I'm not in control of my life enough to stick to a solid posting schedule, but I promise I'll keep it going and won't stop without letting you know. Thanks for sticking with me and being patient!


	11. Falling and Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, but here it is. Hope you like it and, I promise, there's more coming!

It wasn’t even past three, but it had already been a long day. The session with his therapist had been even more grueling than usual. He’d somehow ended up crying about his goddamn dad to a fucking therapist. It was both more cliché and more humiliating than Kavinsky would’ve guessed.

He had no idea how the man had gotten him to talk about his father at all, let alone about _that_ , but he had, and Kavinsky hated him for it. He usually prided himself on being at least three steps ahead of everyone else and that fact that he couldn’t figure out why a random ass therapist would be the exception was really starting to get to him.

A pit of resentment was taking root in K‘s stomach and he really didn’t give a rat’s ass that ‘ _recovery is a painful process, but it just means you’re making good progress’._ For all he cared, his therapist could go fuck himself and his bullshit psychoanalysis.

With the conversation he’d had with the doctor clouding his mind, he wasn’t in any mood for company when Ronan showed up. After a few false starts and pointed jabs, Ronan bluntly asked, “What’s wrong?”

Kavinsky turned to glare at him for his stupid-ass question, “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been here for fucking weeks. Or maybe I’m just sick of seeing your face.”

Ronan ignored the weak dig and leaned forward seriously. “Is it really not helping?”

Kavinsky scoffed and looked away before turning back. “If I say no will it get me the fuck out of here?”

“No.”

“Then what’s it fucking matter?”

Ronan stared him down. “Because you don’t want to feel like shit forever.”

“How the fuck would you know what I want?”

“No one wants to feel like shit forever.”

Kavinsky rolled his eyes and pointed from Ronan to himself. “Pot. Kettle.”

Ronan shook his head. “I don’t feel like shit all the time anymore, I already told you that.”

He had said as much before but Kavinsky hadn’t believed him then and he didn’t now. “Oh yeah? What changed?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Kavinsky ground his teeth together and snapped at Ronan. “Why the fuck does everyone think they know what I want?”

“You saying you want to be miserable for the rest of your life?”

Kavinsky rolled his eyes in frustration. He was tired. Tired of having his life put under a microscope. Tired of people, strangers, analyzing his every action. It wasn’t fair.

Of course, nothing in his life had been fair, but at least this was something he could address. It was Ronan’s turn to be vivisected with prying questions. “Speaking of miserable, how’s your gay thing going? Still a fag?”

Ronan’s jaw clenched. Kavinsky was pleased he could hear his teeth straining under the pressure. “That’s not fucking funny anymore.”

Kavinsky’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? ‘Cause you confessed your sins? I don’t know if you noticed or not, Lynch, but I’m not a goddamn priest. Those rules don’t apply.”

Ronan’s nostrils flared as he growled back, his voice turning gravely. “No. Because I trusted you enough to tell you.”

The huff Kavinsky let out was loaded with undecipherable emotions and even as a ray of sun fell across the room, casting him in bright relief, storm clouds filled his eyes. “Like I trusted you?”

“I’d take it back if I could and you damn well know that.”

“Whatever.” Kavinsky shook his head in exhausted exasperation. “If it’s such a big fucking deal I’ll drop it, you special fucking snowflake.”

Ronan just rolled his eyes. He knew Kavinsky meant it, even if he was an asshole.

Kavinsky snorted judgmentally, but teasing humor tinged his voice, desperate to navigate away from the minefield they’d been approaching. “And you wonder why people call you princess.”

With a skeptical glare Ronan said, “What people? You’re the only one who says that shit.”

Kavinsky’s teasing tone grew a sharper edge. “What about your crush?” It was barely perceptible, but Kavinsky could tell Ronan felt the question in his core as his eyes turned cold and guarded.

“What crush?”

It had been a week since they’d talked about it and, while Kavinsky definitely hadn’t been obsessing over it or anything, he hadn’t forgotten. “The dude that made you gay.”

Ronan did his weird breathing ritual and remained silent, obviously taking poorly to Kavinsky’s choice of words.

“Is it the trailer trash?”

Ronan’s scowl, accentuated by the tension in his voice, somehow managed to make him both more and less attractive. “You mean Parrish?”

Kavinsky snorted. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He waved his hands to move the conversation along. “So, is it him?”

“Why do you care?”

That had worked last time, but Kavinsky was a quick study. He knew how to flip the situation back to where it was meant to be. “My therapist told me to care more about other people’s lives.”

“Care about someone else.”

“Hey, I’m just doing what the doc ordered. You’re the one that said it gets better.” Ronan didn’t respond, but that simply meant Kavinsky had won the battle. “So. Is it Parrish?”

Ronan folded his hands in front of his face, resting his knuckles against his lips in thought. After a moment he let out a sigh and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked up at Kavinsky. “No.”

Kavinsky remained silent, feeling Ronan would say more if he just waited him out.

His patience was rewarded as Ronan continued.

“I thought about it for a while, but no, it’s not him.”

Kavinsky’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then who is it?” He didn’t give Ronan a chance to respond. “Is it Cheng? Tell me it’s not Cheng.” Kavinsky despised Cheng and his happy-go-lucky attitude.

Ronan apparently did too if the flash of disgust that crossed his face meant anything. “No.” He gave Kavinsky a glare. “Stop guessing.”

For some reason, Kavinsky couldn’t stop pushing. He blamed it on the boredom. “Why? Did you fall for a straight dude or something?”

Ronan response, quick and sharp as a whip, proved to be anything but boring. “I don’t know – are you straight, K?”

His heart caught before picking up the pace and beating in his throat. The question was simple, but the answer was not. Kavinsky wasn’t gay. He hadn’t been gay since he’d been eight and his father had punished him for it. But Ronan, baddass-motherfucking Ronan Lynch, was gay.

He couldn’t answer the question. So, he asked one of his own. “Are you drunk?”

Ronan looked unimpressed. “You wish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, fucker?”

“You know what I mean.”

Finally, what Ronan had really said clicked. Kavinsky’s eyes opened wide as a look of realization smacked his face. “You saying you like me?”

Ronan pulled at his bracelets viciously, leaving red marks on his wrist. “Not if you’re really that slow on the uptake.” He huffed and pulled his wrist up to his mouth so he could chew on his bracelets. “Maybe I should reconsider."

Kavinsky replied automatically. “Don’t.”

Ronan spoke slowly, almost cautiously. “Don’t like you or don’t reconsider?”

“Both.”

“Okay.”

Kavinsky opened and closed his mouth, unsure how to continue, but Ronan stopped him before he could really try.

“You don’t have to say anything. I wouldn’t believe a single word out of your mouth right now anyway.”

Kavinsky ran his fingers along the scars that had formed on his forearms pensively before replying. “In that case, I’m not gay and I don’t like you.”

A shark of a grin spilled over Ronan’s face and Kavinsky knew he was screwed.

“Liar.”

Kavinsky felt himself grin. Their game was one of his favorites. “Bastard.”

“Asshole.”

“Cunt.”

“Shit face.”

“Dicksack.”

“Cheater.”

“Pansy.”

“Fucker.”

“Motherfucker.”

Then the annoying-as-fuck cuckoo clock went off, marking the end of their time together for the day, and Ronan sighed as he stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow you P.O.S.”

“Get fucking wasted for me tonight, yeah?”

Ronan just huffed out a little laugh and nodded. “Alright.” He then walked away, giving K one last parting glance and a middle finger salute to tide him over.

 

Not two minutes later Skov and Swan walked in. He nodded to them but, as they sat down, matching smirks grew on their faces. He didn’t trust it.

“What’re you two fuckers smiling about?”

Swan just smiled broader. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, nothing. What’s so fucking funny?”

Skov’s smile was no less broad than Skov’s. “We ran into Lynch on the way in.”

“And? So?”

“And he was smiling.”

Swan expanded on his friends brief answer. “Like, actually smiling, none of that constipated angry face bullshit.”

Skov turned from K to look at Swan and laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t know his face could do that. It’s kinda creepy.”

Swan nodded in exaggerated agreement before asking Kavinsky, “Have any idea what could’ve made ice-queen smile?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Cause you’re smiling too.”

Skov couldn’t help but comment, “Oop, there it goes. Guess that’s a no on figuring your shit out then?”

“What shit do I have to figure out?”

An indecipherable look flashed over Skov’s face before he shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You have something to say to me, then say it.”

“It’s nothing, K. Drop it.”

“No. Tell me.”

Swan replied for Skov, “Jesus, Kavinsky, I’m getting tired of this.”

Skov warned him against whatever he was planning. “Swan.”

He was ignored by both his friends and Kavinsky said, “What’re you trying to say fucker? You don’t have to come here, bitch. You’re not trapped like me.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Swan rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’d be less pissy if you just told us shit.”

“I don’t have shit to tell you.”

“Yeah right. You’re so damn defensive about everything ‘cause you’re trying to keep everything a secret. But we know.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Bet.”

Skov tried to stop the growing disaster. “Guys, stop it. This is stupid.”

Kavinsky gave him a sharp, calculating look, not dissimilar to a bird of prey analyzing a prospective meal. “You think you know something too?”

Swan looked at Skov like ‘told you so’, but Skov spoke before Swan could say something stupid and make everything worse. “Maybe, but it’s not like we’re going to tell anyone.”

The look in Kavinsky’s eyes was growing colder. “Tell anyone what?”

It was obvious Swan wanted to speak, but once again Skov pre-empted him. “Anything.

Swan spoke up after Skov anyway, making all Skov’s efforts pointless. “Would it really be that bad if we knew K? It’s not like we’d stop being friends.”

Kavinsky had a sinking feeling that they weren’t bluffing, but he wasn’t going to fold so easily. “Knew what?”

“Anything, man.”

People said that all the time, but they never meant it. Unconditional love was nothing more than a painful fairytale. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t be my friends if I was a fucking fag.” Kavinsky did his best to couch it as a hypothetical but, if the serious manner his friends took meant anything, was unsuccessful.

Skov flinched at Kavinsky’s words, but it was Swan who responded. “You’re a real moron if you think I’d stop being your friend over some stupid shit like that. If anything coulda got me to ditch your scrawny ass it would’ve been that damn snake you threw at me.”

Kavinsky muttered under his breath, the vestiges of an argument had out many times before. “It wasn’t even venomous.”

No one missed that Kavinsky hadn’t actually addressed Swan’s point and Swan refused to let it go. “Seriously, K. You gotta stop acting like being gay’s the worst shit that could happen to someone. It’s getting old.”

“How the hell would you know? You saying you’re gay?”

“No, but I’m guessing Lynch is, and he doesn’t seem to have the same stick up his ass about it that you do. No pun intended.”

Kavinsky didn’t take kindly to the words, pun or no, and got up from his chair and took a threatening step towards Swan.

Skov stood up before Kavinsky could go any further and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m pretty sure if you start throwing punches here, you’ll get put on restriction again.”

“Then tell Swan to watch his fucking mouth.”

“Okay, okay. Just sit down.” Skov realized Swan had stood as well and looked at him judgmentally. “You too.” When they were both seated Skov sighed and addressed Kavinsky. “But for real, if-” He saw Kavinsky’s anger begin to rise again and repeated himself. “ _If_ you liked dudes, it wouldn’t be a big deal to any of us.”

“You don’t actually mean that.”

“Like hell I don’t.”

“What does it even matter?”

There was an indecipherable ocean of pain just underneath the surface of Skov’s eyes. “Because it does, K. Because you’re miserable and you’re going to keep being miserable if you keep lying.” Skov pursed his lips and looked up at K, more vulnerable than usual. “Because you matter, K.”

Something in Kavinsky cracked, like a sheen of ice on a rapidly melting puddle. “Fine – I’m a fucking fag! There, can you fuck off now?” He didn’t know where the words came from, but there was no taking them back and he couldn’t bear to see his friends’ reactions.

“No, you’re not.”

He’d expected them to hate him, call him names, but he hadn’t expected them to outright deny it. “What-”

Swan didn’t give him time to object before explaining Skov’s point. “No one’s a fag, man. It’s not the 60s, get a fucking grip.”

He wanted them to stop talking about it. He was glad they hadn’t. “Why’re you guys so damn obsessed with this?”

Skov replied, “We’re not … but like, while you’re here to fix your shit, you may as well deal with _all_ your shit. Yeah?”

Kavinsky scoffed at that. “You think this place is actually going to fix me?”

“Well, seeing as you sort of kinda maybe came out to us, I’d say it’s working already.”

Swan spoke up before Kavinsky could lash out at Skov defensively. “And you’re clean.”

Kavinsky grabbed on to the topic change like it was a sinking life boat in shark infested waters, that is to say – reluctantly but with no better alternative. “Dude, I’m on more drugs here than I’ve ever been on in my entire life.”

“Sounds like your type of heaven then.”

Skov elbowed Swan for his poor form and said, “Yeah, but those are different. You’re _clean_.”

Kaivnsky itched at scars his cuts were beginning to form absent-mindedly and replied. “I guess.”

Swan spoke up definitively. “It’s better this way.”

The hope that filled Kavinsky’s chest, lifting it a centimeter up from where it had been buried in shame and disgust, was foreign and terrifying. “Yeah?”

Skov nodded adamantly. “Yeah. For sure man.”

The grin from earlier returned to Swan’s face as he said, “Besides, I think Lynch likes you better this way.”

Kavinsky threw a pillow at him and scowled, but he didn’t mean it. A sort of lightness had infected him. It was almost like the albatross around his neck had lost twenty-pounds just from their conversation.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe it was better this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the length of time between updates but thanks for your patience, I'm doing my best to update as frequently as possible without sacrificing quality (or my idea of quality lol). As always, thanks for reading and let me know if there's anything you want to see in this fic or any other!


	12. Going Nowhere Fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, but I moved to the Philippines for the summer so things have been pretty hectic. Hopefully I can get back on my regular schedule soon. Hope you enjoy!

Ronan found himself driving back from Willow Acres with the windows down and the music up, thinking it was a good day. That was weird enough in itself to make him consider pulling himself over and doing a sobriety test, but he knew what was going on, even if he couldn’t stop it.When he had to slam on his breaks to avoid hitting a deer because he’d been too busy thinking about K’s smirk to focus on the road, he realized his obsession with Kavinsky was dangerous for more than one reason. From his lethal attractiveness to his unnatural quickness K was beautifully deadly.

In the past Ronan had thought Kaivnsky was bad for him, but now Ronan knew the biggest threat Kavinsky posed was to huimself. He didn’t know how to explain it – maybe he was just being a complete fool – but he now understood that Kavinsky only hurt others incidentally. The fact that Kavinsky only hurt others to hurt himself didn’t absolve him of any guilt, but it made Ronan feel less awful about not caring. Maybe the moral dilemma would have kept a more scrupulous person awake at night, but Ronan was neither moral nor scrupulous and, above and beyond any rational thought was the undying knowledge that he wanted Kavinsky in his entirety, regardless of right or wrong.

The deer escaped the terror of Ronan’s driving and slowly he brought the car back up to hideous speeds and let his mind wander. As was the new normal, his mind landed on Kavinsky. Like a one-track record the sound of Kavinsky’s voice and the visceral memory of being pinned by his gaze filled his head. The knowledge that he was beginning to see the Kavinsky buried under all the drugs and parties, the Kavinsky that nearly no one knew, didn’t help push him from Ronan’s mind. Instead, his heart beat like a kid’s on Christmas Eve, yearning beyond words to know what was hidden. The more Ronan learned the more he needed to know, but he couldn’t even pretend to be bothered by how fast and hard he was falling.

He pulled into Monmouth’s parking lot with a roar but screeched to an abrupt stop when he realized the guilt wasn’t drowning him anymore. Of course, it was still there, some times more than others, but it was the difference between a new highlighter and one on the brink of dying. At first it had left a vivid stain, of blood and shame, across his soul, but now the memory was but a dull shadow of what it had been. A large part of him wanted to think it was because Kavinsky was finally getting help and that, maybe, what had happened was, in the end, for the best. A larger part of him knew that, while that was true, it wasn’t why his guilt was leaving him.

No, the truth was much more selfish. He was letting go of his guilt because his heart was so busy thinking about Kavinsky now, Kavinsky in the future, that he didn’t have room for anything else. It was the stupidest, most idiotic shit. Ronan Lynch wooed into forgiving himself by the power of love. He banged his head on his steering wheel, eventually letting it rest there. He was a moron. He barely knew the real Kavinsky, but he knew any Kavinsky was a dangerous thing to love. By everyone else’s standards, Kavinsky should have also been hard to love. Unfortunately for Ronan, he’d always loved dangerous risky things and Kavinsky was no exception.

It was like standing on the lip of a volcano. You either loved it or hated it, and you knew right away which it was. All were consumed by the heat, completely incapable of thinking of anything but how it sucked the breath from their lungs, but only some walked closer. Most backed down, unwilling or unable to handle the fiery touch, but there were those that embraced it. Ronan was one of those. He felt the rumbling under his feet travel through his body and he wanted to be consumed. Needed to be known with that sort of thoroughness.

Kavinsky was that volcano. From what Ronan knew, and he knew enough to be pretty certain he was right, Kavinsky didn’t do anything half-way. If he decided to do something, he went all the way, he just didn’t know how to do anything else. Kavinsky’s life was black and white; he didn’t have many friends, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for those few and, if he committed to doing something, he’d do it or die trying. It didn’t matter how small or trivial it was, once he determined he’d accomplish it, you could have faith he would. The trick was knowing what he’d committed to and what he merely claimed to commit to. If Ronan could just convince Kavinsky to commit to living, maybe he wouldn’t have to stifle his heart’s fervent demands that he hand his soul over to a boy with a timer, a virtual ticking time-bomb.

With that sobering thought, Ronan cut the engine and sighed. He walked up the steps to Monmouth, realizing full well that whoever was inside would be ready to ask him a million and one questions about what he’d been doing in the car for so long. Not for the first time Ronan didn’t know how he would respond. All he could do was open the door and hope whatever he did wouldn’t result in too much collateral damage.

Blue, Adam, and Gansey were sitting in a semi-circle, like a tribune judging Ronan. For some godforsaken reason, Ronan sat down facing them and settled in for the long haul. Maybe it was because he was tired of hiding from his friends, or maybe he’d finally accepted he was stuck on Kavinsky. That removing him from his life would be like taking out a kidney with a kitchen knife. Theoretically possible, but definitely excruciating. With a silent sigh, Ronan realized he’d have to get his friends to the same realization eventually if he wanted to live in peace. And his blood sang that ‘eventually’ should be now. He wanted to focus on Kavinsky, on the new possibilities he brought, without his friends nagging him. He decided then and there that he wouldn’t get up until they had it all out.

That didn’t mean he was going to start that conversation. He was good at silence and even if he hadn’t been, his friends – at least Blue and Gansey – were the worst at keeping quiet when they felt strongly about an issue. Apparently Blue felt very strongly because Ronan had barely gotten comfortable against the couch when she started talking.

“What’s going on Ronan?”

Ronan gave them a slightly pointed look. “I don’t know. You tell me.” It was obvious Blue had opinions about what was going on.

“You’ve been acting really weird. Gansey told me you were visiting Kavinsky and we’re worried.” She paused and gave him a serious look. “Are you on drugs?”

He couldn’t even be mad, it was too funny. “Yes.  I’m driving all the way out to _Willow Acres_ to snort coke and shoot up.” Sarcasm wasn’t the same as lying.

It angered Blue anyway. Ronan hadn’t expected it, but he also didn’t care. It was their fault for prying. “You’re acting like this is a joke, but it’s not.” He just rolled his eyes, but Blue wasn’t done. “Why do you even like him?”

He wasn’t going to explain himself. Not only did he have trouble grasping it himself, but he didn’t owe them that. With a warning glare, he said, “Because I do.”

Gansey spoke up gently, as if his tone would release his responsibility for the harshness of his words. “There’s nothing special about him, Ronan. He’s not going anywhere in life.”

A voice that sounded surprisingly like Skov whispered into his mind that maybe people like Gansey were the reason Kavinsky thought he had to put on a front, the reason he wanted to die so badly. It was an infuriating thought. “You don’t know him.”

There was a hint of mocking in Gansey’s tone. It was skillfully masked, but Ronan knew him too well to miss it. “And you do? He’s lying to you Ronan. He just wants to use you.”

Ronan’s nostrils flared in barely repressed rage. “You sound just like your dad.” It was a vicious blow, back to a time when Ronan had heard Gansey’s parents trying to convince Gansey to get better friends, implying Ronan was just using him for their money.

“Ron-”

He didn’t let Gansey finish and snarled his response. “No. Stop trying to fuck this up for me.”

“What are you talking about Ronan?”

“I’m not giving him up so grow the fuck up and get over it.”

They all exchanged confused looks until Blue asked. “Give him up?”

Ronan couldn’t explain why he did it, but what he spat back at Blue unraveled what he’d been hiding for so many years. “I _like_ him.”

She made a soft “Oh” sound, but Gansey wasn’t content with Ronan’s answer.

“Is it because of Declan? Are you trying to make him mad?”

Like an arrow to the chest, Ronan felt Gansey’s words viscerally. He flung back with all his might as he stood up. “Yeah, because what would be worse than finding out his brother’s gay.”

He’d promised himself he’d stay till the end, but he couldn’t manage it. At first, he thought he’d go back to his room, but he knew Gansey wouldn’t let him rest until he’d been forgiven, and Ronan wasn’t ready for that. They were calling for him, but it didn’t matter. He needed to leave. Without much consideration to where he’d go Ronan spun on his heels and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

As soon as he got in his car, he tore out of the parking lot. He drove like he was being chased until his concentration slipped and he slid off the road. It was a small mistake, easily corrected, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled over and when he looked down at his hands, he was shocked to see they were shaking. Breathing was getting harder and harder until he was nearly hyperventilating. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a panic attack, but usually it only happened after a particularly bad dream.

It didn’t make any sense. He knew Gansey hadn’t meant it like that. He knew he’d only meant choosing Kavinsky, but that apparently didn’t matter. When he’d imagined coming out, he’d never thought it’d be like that. Maybe it was his fault for bringing it up like that, but he’d just thought Gansey would be more … Gansey.

As he sat on the side of the road, going over the judgmental look that had been on Gansey’s face over and over again, he desperately wanted K. He wasn’t a comforting presence in any sense of the words, but he was overwhelming. When Ronan was around K he didn’t think about Gansey and Glendower, or school, or Declan and if he did, Kavinsky spoke with such cockiness about such grand things that Ronan was soon convinced his own problems weren’t problems at all. It was freeing to be infected by his confidence, as feigned as it was, but none of that was accessible to him then.

After a few more minutes letting his car burn gas pointlessly he pulled out his phone. He saw he had tens of missed calls and texts from each of his friends, but he ignored them all. Instead he typed out a text to Skov asking where he was and, within moments, he received an address, no questions asked.

He quickly put it into his GPS and spun his car in the right direction, uncaring about why he was going or what he was headed towards as long as it wasn’t Monmouth for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always questions, comments, and concerns are much appreciated!!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more lmk (bc I'm stuck until I know whether I should do a happy ending or continue with the angst)


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